Stohn Anthology
by Houjuu
Summary: A long running collection of short and long fics dedicated to the ship 'Stohn' or Number Nine/Number Four from the Lorien Legacies book series. The stories included vary from writing perspectives, angst, fluff, alternate scenes, general humor, and interesting AUs. Not entirely romantic though some stray the line of budding attraction/quiet crush!
1. Never Again

**AN: Hello readers! This is the first story of a huge bind up of little fics I've made for my gay aliens ship, Stohn. The order as of right now is an established one with 'alternate scenes' first and in order by book, than drabbles with two parts, and it ends with my two current favorite pieces though these alternate scenes are also among my favorites I've done. You'll see the perspectives change from first person to third person and back again... most of my stories started off first person but some I went back and reworked into third person and have started to regularly write in third person just because I feel like I can put more into my words with it so enjoy!**

 **An alternate Rise of Nine Stohn scene after they get off the train and are heading towards the John Hancock center.**

* * *

 _John_

"Wait here, this'll only take five minutes." Nine had said before rushing off after two thugs in the calm Chicago night. We caught them pushing around some guy for extra cash; naturally, Nine got up in arms about it. I tried my best to make him ignore them and get us out of the open but he nearly snapped my neck instead of theirs. Now I'm by myself, just a few blocks from the John Hancock center. I doubt I could just stroll in without him.

We were so frickin' close too.

I let out a loud sigh and lean my back against the cold brick wall of a small pub. Both chests lay at my feet with Bernie Kosar padding back and forth in front of me, like he's keeping guard. My hood is pulled up, hiding as much of my face and blonde hair as possible while I keep my head down. I can only imagine how many people have my face and the amount of money it's worth memorized by now, especially in a big city like this.

 _Where are you, stupid?_

The pub's door suddenly opens and I raise my head to make sure it isn't a threat. It's a trained reaction. To my relief, it's just two younger women stumbling out, laughing to each other. I try to block their laughter out. The first girl, the shorter of the two, yells out to someone inside, probably a waiter, while the other shouts a cheeky "call me sometime." I roll my eyes. The shorter girl turns towards me and I quickly avert my gaze and act like nothing happened. If only it worked that way.

"Hey you, do you like what you see?" She calls out in a shrill voice while her friend just cackles besides her. I don't look up and hold my tongue. Getting sassy with pedestrians will only get us in more trouble. I try to ignore them. Especially since if I try to get sassy with a pair of girls, it won't go over so smoothly. "Oh, a silent type, huh? I like it." She continues and I begin to panic as the sound of her voice moves closer.

Shit. Of all the times Nine had to vanish, THIS was one of them.

A face moves into my view and I pull back my head in alarm. She laughs again and I can feel my face beginning to redden. I won't lie, she's very pretty with short blonde hair girl, warm brown eyes and pale skin. She's no Sarah, but she's nice looking. Her friend walks up next to her; her friend is also nice looking with tan skin, similar dark eyes and long dark hair. Both of them are dressed for a long night out on the town. I can't believe I'm even looking at them. I can already feel myself beginning to sweat under their stare.

"You looked lonely, so we came over." The blonde girl smiles. BK wonders closer the chests and my leg. He's on the defensive.

"You're actually really cute, what's your name?" The second girl asks with a sweet toned voice. I swallow nervously and look away, causing them both to laugh. What the hell does she mean by 'actually?' "Shy, huh? I've got time."

"Uh..." I start, trying to think of a name, anything that wasn't "John" but something not as ridiculous as "Donald." Just as I remembered the name I used in Florida, 'Daniel', I heard a familiar, low voice call out.

"There you are, Jake, I've been looking all over! Who are your friends?" I look over to watch Nine as he approaches with that stupid grin on his face. He doesn't look as ruffed up as I had expected, with the Cubs hat still keeping his hair in place. If he was at least a little bloodied from his fight, we could have gotten out of this sooner.

I can tell what he's thinking and have a hard time containing a groan. Jake? At least it's a step up... It's more than a step up actually. I sort of like it, though I won't ever admit it to Nine.

The tall boy offers his hand to the first girl, the blonde. She takes it and gives it a small shake, a sly smile across her face. "Oh wow, can I meet the rest of your friends, Jake?" Nine lifts the girl's hand to his mouth and gives it a quick peck. She giggles and pulls it away.

The other girl whistles. "It's kind of rare to find good men in Chicago now a days." She turns to me. "You need to step it up, _Jake_." I want to fade away.

I can't believe what I'm seeing. This is the same dick hole who just told me he's bad with women. Bullshit.

"My name's Brett, we're visiting in from out of town, hoping to find a gallery to drop these bad boys off at." Nine puts his foot on one of the chests." Not sure how rare they are, think I've seen them before on an infomercial but here's to hoping." BK ducks under his leg and quietly moves closer to my leg. They look down and inspect them for a second, but don't ask questions. I think the infomercial tactic helped wane their curiosity.

"Well we're from the area and our night just got started... maybe we can show you around a bit? I'd love to talk more." The girls look at each other, then back to Nine. I look at him myself. He looks like he's actually considering it. Just like on the train.

That's it. I don't care if I'm a buzz kill, we have to go before things get bad. I let my anger through and elbow him in the rib. He just smiles in response to me then directs his attention back to the two.

"Maybe another time, because well, you see," Nine's voice draws out his answer and I can't help but wonder why. His smile only grows and his voice goes softer as he adds, "Jake's actually my boyfriend and we really need to check into our hotel soon. We've been on the road all day and I think we're both a little beat."

What did he just say.

"Oh my, I hadn't realized-" The blonde begins a little flustered but Nine waves her off. He steps toward me, leans closer, and kisses me briefly. On the mouth. I can feel his tongue lightly graze my lips even. He pulls away and I'm left to stare at him. The blush returns to my face. I have no words.

Dammit, he's a good kisser too.

"J has a hard time telling people he's not into women. I like both honestly but Jake is cute so here we are." He smiles at me. For a fake smile, it's good. It even has me fooled. If I didn't know the insufferable Nine for what he was, _I_ would be believing this act. "Well, enjoy your evening, ladies." He winks at them for good measure, then picks up one chest and starts walking away. I just hastily nod to them, then pick up the second and hurry after him with BK beside me.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" I snap at him when we're about two blocks away. Nine's laughing loudly like usual.

"You should have seen your face! I had that planned out from the start as soon as I saw them swarm you, Johnny boy. It'll keep the ladies off in the meantime." He stops and turns to face me, his usual smirk on his face. "They would have eaten you alive, don't trust the Chicago girls so easily. I'll teach you how to flirt the right way in do time."

"I know how to- that's not the point! I don't need to flirt with everyone. I don't need you kissing me either!" I sigh sharply. It takes a second thought to not throw my chest at him. We've stopped just a block from the center. Nine is standing between me and a long night of sleep I desperately need.

"Yeah yeah, you kiss everyone you talk to, I get it." Nine complains. A wicked smile stretches across his face and he leans a little closer. His fingers brush my cheek. "Wanna do it again?" I stumble backwards. He laughs wildly at my reaction.

"You're such an asshole." I hiss, the feeling of red once again returning to my cheeks.

"Tell me something I don't know, _babe."_ Nine draws out the word 'babe' and gauges my 's enjoying this far too much. I bite my lip to keep from engaging him further. "But you _do_ admit we've been flirting then, hey Four?"

"Just shut up and keep moving, Nine."

"What, I can't let Sarah have all of the fun with you. I know you liked kissing me." He turns around and starts walking again like nothing happened.

"Knock it off, this isn't funny!" I shout after him. BK whines at us to stop fighting besides me.

I will never admit aloud that Nine's a good kisser. Or that it was a good kiss at all. Dammit.


	2. Repercussions

**AN: This is like an alternate/additional Fall of Five scene, enjoy!**

* * *

 _Nine_

The air of the lecture hall is quiet and cold enough that I can see delicate gray clouds of my breaths coming out in panting. I don't know how long I have been down here, punching away my problems with my favorite and only punching bag left. The other sacks have long spilt their brittle sand or snapped off entirely from their supports, all thanks to me. Sandor didn't feel the need to invest in new bags or install a new clock since a workout isn't a workout until it burns.

He's gone now.

The mere thought of Sandor hits a nerve somewhere in the back of my mind and I smash another fist against the tough fabric, feeling it rub hot like a fire against my knuckles. My fucking fault, it'll always be my fucking fault. Sandor and Maddy, both of them, it will always be my fault.

His last words, the blood curling screams of her and her family, all of them ring in my ears at once, fueling my assault. They are the same voices I hear in my darkest nightmares, the same whispers that breath against my ear as I wake each day.

Another voice joins in, it pipes up from the background of my thoughts, a soft murmur at first that gradually grew into a strong roar. A voice I've known only for a short time, a voice I've learned to listen for. Suddenly I'm on the roof, the cool summer night air tearing through my hair and licking my skin. My fist clenches a hoodie, dangling a struggling body over the busy Michigan avenue traffic below. His face comes into view, the same face I have slowly found myself lost in thought on over and over. His blue eyes blaze with a wild, panicked emotion, a deep realization, before he shuts them entirely in defeat. In my memories, I can see that Nine, Iike he isn't myself, letting him drop, killing one of my own out of enraged disbelief. Because he was weak enough to let some earth girl fool him and get his own guardian caught.

Because he fell for the crippling, useless chemicals of love once and let himself fall in it all again.

Feelings won't help, they never will. I'm constantly fighting two wars, one with my fists and one with my head, and I'm currently losing both. I lost Sandor, I lost a girl's entire family, and if I can't help myself, I'll lose him to-

Pain.

A sharp agony brings me back. I yank my hand back and took a step away as the bag swung wildly in its place. Well… my hands sure fucking burn alright so clearly I'm now working out. Lore, it hurts. That last hit has me convinced my hand's broken with how badly it burns. I move my other hand in front of me to stop the bag's violent swing and jolt at the surprising pain from opening my fingers. I catch the bag with my shoulder instead and lift my hand up to investigate. I see blood, a good amount of it too. I raise my other hand and sure enough, it's everywhere. My knuckles on both sides are bleeding like crazy, to where it's dripping down in front of my feet and down my arm. I glance over at the bag to see the dark red stains blending in on the fabric.

Reality hits. How long have I been down here? How long have my hands been scraped like this?

I let out a frustrated sigh. I can't tell if this is helping or hurting me anymore, the physical pain should say enough.

"What are you doing?"

The tired voice catches me off guard. I hadn't heard the door open and I try to not let it show that my visitor took me by surprise.

Worst of it all is that I know who it is and immediately feel like shit. I woke him up. I know his voice pretty well by now. He's the last person I'd like to see right now, not like this.

"Just getting a workout in boss, can't blame a guy for trying to stay hot." I turn to face John, who's standing in the doorway to the stairwell. His short blonde hair is a complete mess and he's in a shirt and pair of sweats that don't match. He probably just got up judging by the haste in his clothes but his eyes look wide awake, ready. Not to mention as pretty as always and from a distance, I can make out their beautiful blue color. Fuck me.

Even now in his disheveled state, he's good looking. I'm very possibly checking him out as we speak.

"I heard you slam your door earlier but I figured it was something more than you throwing a fit when I heard the sound of chains rattling." He yawned midway through and I mentally slap myself for not being careful. He points out the partially swinging bag and continues. "Are you cool now or should I wait to ask any further?"

"You're worried about me? Please, don't you know me by now Johnny, I'm fucking crazy. Who else goes wakes up to workout at midnight when the air turns on?" I force a laugh but John catches it immediately. He narrows his eyes, studying me closely.

"Well it's closer to two now and it's just us, Nine. What's going on?" He asks, carefully stepping around the Malcolm Goode mess of tools and electronics to get closer to me. I feel a small sense of panic when the cold blood starts dripping off of my fingers. I only just remember how raw my injured hands are, and it slowly sinks in that I've been down here for almost two hours of my insomnia beating the shit out of myself. The bloody mess is hidden behind my back and just out of John's view. I just hope he doesn't look and notice.

Once again, I wasn't careful with myself.

He's directly in front of me now, a small frown on his face. I force myself not to stare into his eyes, and instead take a step backwards and look off instead. I laugh uncomfortably. "Can I help you with something?"

He sighs and I turn my head to look back at him. A slightly annoyed look crossed his face, causing his blue to glow with thought. "You're the one that woke me up by being a dick, I'll let you talk."

"Well not intentionally. If I wanted you up, I would have thrown BK or Sam on you like normal people. But since I really don't want to see you and your girlfriend butt naked and in the middle of something, I'd knock first." I joke, grinning wickedly as he steps back with his hands up in defense. The best way to waft the heat off of me is to throw it into a barb at someone else and with John, the teasing is like beginner level gaming.

"No you wouldn't- Woah, we are not like that! Like you're one to talk anyway, Nine. Do you know how many rooms I've walked into where there's a secret drawer just for condoms and lube? It's nuts." He's flustered when trying to explain himself and I laugh at him. It relieves the tension a little.

"You are far too easy, my friend. Just implying sex to you makes you uncomfortable." Vaguely implying John and Sarah having sex in one of my beautiful, well furnished bedrooms also makes me angry but this show must go on. "You really do need my guidance, Four." I shake my head, a smile still on my face but it quickly drops when I see his expression. He's looking behind me, squinting to get a better picture, his mouth slightly open. "What's wrong with you this time?"

"What's that?" I freeze. I had completely forgot that the bag is stained with my blood. He sees the gory scarlet stains of my blood. He has to. Fuck. I look over my shoulder, far past the bag to try and distract him with something else, anything else.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm not seeing anything." I quickly shift in front of John's line of sight even further so he can no longer see the stained fabric. I turn my head back towards him and am met with the crossed look on his face.

"No you idiot, on the bag. Let me look at it." His voice rises slightly and he reaches for my arm to push me aside but I catch his wrist before he can touch me. I wince as my palm opens and the fingers closes on his warm skin. I have to play it off like I'm fine, even though I can't tell if it's hurting from opening my hand or touching John's boiling hot skin. His blue eyes glare at me. They always glow with everything John feels and right now they're a flame. Do not stare for too long. "Can _I_ help you?" He groans dryly, purposely repeating me. I let myself smirk; something I really like about John is he's one of the only ones to challenge me and he doesn't do it to be an ass like Five or occasionally Sam.

"I don't know, can you? I don't think I'm the one who needs help." My hand is practically disintegrating off of my bones. I have to inhale to relax and even that doesn't work. Kill me. "You could have just asked to touch this body, I am VERY inviting for someone to feel up my muscles actually, I've been needing to get some." I laugh as he rolls his eyes at me.

The worst part is I'd like that from him. A lot.

Then, he looks down at my hand at the exact time that I remembered. I'm wounded and am currently bleeding everywhere. Shit shit shit. I pull my hand back and hide it from his view behind my back. I smile uncomfortably. He stares at me, right into my eyes. I'm forced to stare back; I feel myself tensing up under his gaze, possibly getting red even. I don't get nervous but here I am barely holding myself together while looking into the beautiful stare of John Smith.

"What's the problem?" I ask, forcing a smile across my face again. My knuckles are practically burning.

"This is?" John's voice sounds like it's trying to stay calm. It's shaking but I can't tell if it's with shock or anger. He holds up his forearm that is now gently glistening red with my blood. "What the hell is going on with you?" He pushes past me to the sack and freezes. I turn my back to him and cross my arms.

"You wouldn't get it." I snapped back without turning to face him.

"Try me, _Stanley_." He countered, letting his anger show. The use of my old alias takes me off guard. The Great Nine suddenly has no comebacks. Fuck me. The chains holding the bag make a quiet squeak, probably from John messing with it. I keep my back turned and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I mean it." He adds quietly and I think I'm imagining the flood of worry in his tone.

"I've been sleeping like shit, how does that sound. Good enough?" I retort.

"Because that's a good reason to come down and hurt yourself in the middle of the night." John snaps back at me. His hand is on my shoulder, but I pull away and step forward.

"It wasn't intentional, it just sort of happened in the heat of the moment. I didn't realize there was blood until it started to hurt." I growl at him.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me, Stan." That name again.

"First of all, I'm a master of silence. You'll be down here with me for a long time. Second, _don't_ call me that." I laugh darkly. Out of everyone I could have disturbed, it had to be him. This could go on for hours, the never ending game of fuck yous. Unfortunately but very predictably, he doesn't back off.

"You're hilarious." John counters with his familiar dry tone. "Then I'm a master in patience, we're even. You don't get the nickname 'Mom' without being annoying." Lore is he stubborn. I look over my shoulder at him, who's standing with his back pressed against the bag, that stupid smile on his face. I shake my head at him; I don't know if I want to be angry or excited that he's finally being an ass back to me. "Nothing to say or is it game time? Someone has to push you the same way you shove everyone else." His smile grows. I hate how it helps me relax. I'm not trying to stay quiet, I just refuse to say anything that proves he's right.

Lore I hate it when John's right.

"Actually, wait." John walks up from behind and moves in front of me so he's blocking my view. He puts out a hand. "Let's see how bad it is first. This will make two times I have had to heal you in the past day, honestly Nine."

"I can handle myself, 'Mom', I'm a grown up." I reply, trying to keep the smirk off my face when John once again rolls his eyes in response. I love harassing him far too much.

"Whatever you say." He sighed. "Let's go back up so I can see it in more light without having to burn your skin off with my legacies."

"You might as well, Johnny, this burns enough as it is."

I hate this feeling. This weakened feeling. The feeling of "I haven't changed in a year despite everything that has happened." Instead of being, it's like I'm trying to be this cocky asshole but I'm still small, stupid Stanley. Next time I'll have to be more careful that someone doesn't follow me around, I just don't want to explain anything. I'm a lot better than this, I'm a shallow grave and I prefer it that way.

We're upstairs now, with a single light from the kitchen on above us. Apparently a single light from the kitchen is more than the low glow of the lecture hall. I'm sitting on the tiled counter next to the sink with John standing and studying my knuckles. His expression is focused, sharp, and handsome even. Fuck me. His hands holding mine are warm, probably the first time they've ever been perfect temperature. I'm so used to them always being so damn hot in fights or arguments. They're the perfect warm to hold right now, honestly.

I think about slapping myself. He's not interested, never will be. Love sucks. I let out a loud sigh before I'm fully aware I'm making any sound at all. John looks up at me, confused, but doesn't say anything and just goes back to my bloody hands.

"Just thinking about how unfair it is that I'm so pretty." I grin when he looks back up at me. He can't keep the small smile from raising. "I'm all natural too, no added content." He shakes his head slowly. "What, don't believe me? I can't help it if I'm perfect. Beauty isn't a lesson I can teach you, Johnny, but I'll try." He laughs softly to himself. My smile grows at the sound.

God dammit.

"You're trying, I'll give you that, but I'm still going to ask what happened downstairs, Nine."

"Yeah, I know, you're unbearable like that." I look off, searching for a clock to give me the time. Or really just looking for anything else so I don't have to focus on John. I can feel the icy tingle of his healing legacy repairing my raw skin. It's as if I forced my bare hands into numbing, chilled water, it's not as refreshing as someone in pain would hope. But it works for me. My pain tolerance has really built up in the past few years.

A thought crosses my mind instead. A bizarre little realization. I'm starting to realize that I do a lot of stupid things. They're usually worth it though. When the wonderful Number Nine has a dumb thought, it automatically becomes a brilliant one after all.

"If I woke you up, Four, then where's the better, prettier half of the packed deal?" I look back at John, a smug smile on my face. Teasing, it's my coping.

"She's not up." He simply replies, not taking his eyes off of his work. Something in his voice, in his reaction feels wrong. He should have jumped me about that.

I decide, for better or for much worse, to press further. "I figured you two would be up all night wrapped in each other and talking all mushy and shit."

"Nope" was his only response to that, with a click of his tongue and everything. Yep, something's wrong.

"Did you wear her out tonight or something? She's only human, Johnny, slow down between the sheets. When's the wedding?" John finally looks up at me as I smirk. I'm proud of my poker face, I've put a lot of practice into it. He has a stiff but sad frown on his face though, however.

"No and that's not happening." He shrugs and looks down at his feet. "We... Well, we broke up a few nights ago. We haven't slept in the same room since the first night and have been generally distant. Sarah still wants to stay here though, it might be dangerous to send her home anyway."

I stare at him, all snarky words lost on my tongue and somewhere in the back of my throat. I immediately feel like an ass, hell I am an ass. We just sit there awkwardly in front of each other. The downside to being the team's vocal sasquatch is being a big ass.

"So… uh, does anyone else know or were we waiting for me to make this awkward in front of everyone? That seems to be what ends up happening after all."

John laughs at me. "I didn't realize that you were self aware, Nine." He smiles slightly when I glare at him. "But no, Sam knew right away what happened and I think Six caught on sometime soon after. We tried making it work with dates and the training, we tried everything, it just wasn't working out anymore. There just felt like a lot of pressure or too much happening between us… I blame myself." He sighs.

"Because that _definitely_ helps. Didn't you just play parent with me over keeping my moody shit in?" He peeks up at me. "I could hit you." He grins a little more.

"Please don't."

After a brief second to think, I cave in. I let out a loud, defeated sigh. "Fine, you told me a shitty secret, I'll tell you a shitty one." He raises a brow but doesn't respond. "I have been sleeping like complete shit, that part is real, but it's because... I think a lot. I have gotten so used to it by now that my thoughts are kind of like a lifetime movie of suffering. Tonight, insomnia kicked in and it just..." I can't finish speaking. I sound so fucking dumb, I'm sure even John thinks so. I look down at my bloodied hands, hoping it's enough for him. They're healed and warm now, but still brown with my blood.

But John's soft skinned hands are still holding mine. That's an upside. I'm so sappy.

"And what?" He asks slowly. God dammit. I don't answer him. I don't want to. "Go on, Stanley." That doesn't help.

"Why do you insist on using that name?" I hiss at him and snapping up to meet his eyes. His hands tighten around mine. Now they're hot, like what I'm used to; he's getting angry and I can feel it. His stare is level.

"What are you worked up about?" John counters then smiles like he's won. Those eyes, however, take my attention. His eyes glow with his smile. I hate that he's handsome, that his face and all of its features pull you in with a little smile and a tinkle in the eye. "There's nothing wrong with a name."

"I don't get worked up," I reply flatly. "and I just hate how it sounds."

"Like 'John Smith' is any better? They all suck, that was the point." He blinks and looks down at our hands as if he just remembered what happened. He lets go of my hands immediately and backs up. He crosses his arms and leans against the oven like nothing happened.

I raise a brow. "Yeah, thanks Mom."

"If I'm Mom, then you're Dad, _Stan."_ I want to get angry with him for using 'Stanley' against me so much but I can't. I find myself trying not to laugh instead.

"Stan is such a Dad name too, Sandor is probably laughing in his grave over this." I add with a loud, obnoxious sigh. John laughs at me. A small smile comes to my face. I remember him pushing me to go out and be who I want. He pushed me towards the gym, to Maddy, and to dating her and freaking her out with a high-speed chase in the city.

Would he have pushed me towards going after John, I wonder.

"You didn't get to choose your name? I mean look at you, you look like a," he paused to think of a name; it's nice to know none of us are good at this, "like a Lance or... maybe Tyler, something more… exotic or Hollywood."

"Quit thinking so much before you get a serious headache. We kind of need you to think about other more important things." I add, hoping my tone is just drenched in sarcasm. I laugh when he frowned and shook his head.

"Yeah, like about you for instance." I let out an obnoxious, angry sigh, hop down from the counter and walk away from him. "I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me, 'Dad'." I look over my shoulder back at John, who has proceeded to follow me with a smug smile across his face.

"So help me if this catches on, Four..." I try to sound angry but I'm smiling. He has this way of getting under me; imagine if it were in a few different ways. I turn to face him.

John just laughs. "You're the one that said Stan's a Dad name, Nine." He walks right up to me, standing just a step in front of me. "I didn't even have to try, you set me up."

"Well that makes us married then, Johnny, I'm sure you're thrilled! Someone finally tied the knot with big, bad Stanley." I'm enjoying this too much now. John just shakes his head at me.

"Well, _honey,_ married people talk about their days and their fears, so you should tell me what's going on before I have to threaten you with divorce." I snort. He's bringing the heat now.

"I didn't realize you could be this funny, Johnny." Somewhere in that blonde field, I think he knows not to press this any farther. That or the serious, tense energy between us was lost amongst the laughter and sass. We're either in each other's faces trying to hurt one another or like this, laughing or gently digging at each other with no alternate motivation.

"I'll blame the measly two hours of sleep I got thanks to you, you could at least give me an idea-"

I shrug his comment off, disappointed that I was wrong. He still has yet to drop it and I'm done talking about it. I smirk at him in return, ready to take this conversation in a whole new direction. "Aww, does Mom need Dad to help him fall back asleep? I could easily wear you out, Johnny." I even add a wink for good measure. To my surprise, instead of recoiling in horror like I figured, he flushes red. Interesting, he usually just shoves me aside and yells at me for implying anything. "Your face is awfully red there, pal, something you want to share?"

"Back off Nine, I asked you first." John's words come out rushed and I have to hold down my smile from growing. I take a step towards him. How far can I get away with pushing him.

"You know what else married people do, Four?" I move closer and whisper to him. He tries to back away from me but I grab his arms and hold him in place. I stare into his beautiful blue eyes. We're close enough that I could straight up kiss him right now and the downside is I really want to. But that's not my style. He's completely still, just waiting for me to say something. His eyes drift down my face, nervous. "Well… nothing, because they're married." I let him go and back up, cackling.

John turns his back to me almost immediately. "You're insane." His voice shakes a little. The tips of his ears are bright red, showing his embarrassment. Success.

"What did I tell you earlier, I'm pretty fucking weird Johnny." I shrug. He still doesn't turn back to me. I should have kissed him, dammit. I won't get that chance again. Fuck it, I can't get in a much deeper hole than this. "I mean, if you're so bummed out about it, I could just make out with you." If it wasn't gone before, the original 'fight' was now lost in the room somewhere and really I didn't care. He'll find out one way or another eventually I'm sure, he's that irritating after all.

"No, I think I'm good… besides, you'd like that too much."


	3. Sidetracked

**AN: Basically an alternate Fate of Ten or Revenge of Seven chapter/scene where they didn't get separated from Nine. Pick your sequel book to head canon this for.**

* * *

"What the hell is wrong with you!" I force open the broken remains of a fragmented door open, causing it to unhinge entirely and crash into the splintering wall. This broken building will be our shelter for now, the perfect place for us to lie low, check for injuries, and for me to tear into John.

"You're what's wrong with me, how about that?!" He turns and immediately hisses back, his voice scratchy and sore. His beautiful blue irises are blazing with anger, almost distracting enough to take my attention off of the thick dark red streak down the side of his face. The same crimson is also dried on the sides of his mouth, covering his bottom lip and chin. He looks like hell and he sounds like it too. John yanks his arm from my grip and storms away. My eyes drop, catching the other bloodstains down his arms and lingering on his side. He's hit all over, and possibly in places that I can't see. A meek voice tells me I should save this for later and worry about his current state but I remind myself that I need to stay heated. This was the last straw; I'm fucking sick of his hero attitude.

I'm not losing him too and fuck me for giving a shit.

I grit my teeth and take a second to speak so I don't say the wrong thing. But nothing careful comes to mind.

"Well someone has to be the bitchy, stupid one. You've been doing a horrible job at it recently." I sneer and follow him, running my fingers through my bangs in frustration. John keeps his back to me, ignoring my barb. Fine, no playing nice. "A war is a war, boss, people are going to die no matter what we do, you can't just run off trying to save everyone that doesn't matter. They're standing with us." I storm towards him. "You need to start acting like the leader you're supposed to be, not the nice guy. There's no room for nice anymore, suck it up, you're a soldier."

That hit a nerve in him somewhere. John whirls around to glare back at me and took a big step forward so he was in my face. He grabs a handful of what fabric remained on my body and pulls me closer. Any sudden movement and we would be kissing. That's the first thing my mind thinks about, I'm so fucking sick. I didn't let it show that I was caught by surprise. "I didn't ask to be the leader." He whispers coolly. "I didn't ask to be a leader or a soldier, fuck, I didn't ask to be a Garde, I didn't ask to be sent here. I didn't ask for any of this shit!" His piercing blue eyes don't drift away from mine, not even for a second. They keep us in a trance, like a battle or any argument we've had before. Whoever looks away was admitting defeat and I'm not a fucking quitter.

"Bullshit you didn't ask for it, maybe if you had just stopped acting on your own and considered what we thought, you wouldn't have to be the leader. I'd gladly take the fucking title from you. And guess what, none of us asked to be sent there either. Our world also didn't asked to be invaded and our species didn't exactly want to be killed off." I raise my voice with each sentence, pushing against his hold and changing the balance in the air. I'm holding the power of the room now. "We are here to hold Setrakus' head up on some rusty pipe in a parade and finally go home, and that's it. There are no humans in our future off of this planet. Pull your head out of your ass, there's no room for seven billion in our focus. There's room for us, the other Garde, and Ra's corpse, that's it."

His reaction is what I expect it to be, and that is him completely ignoring what I just said. "I don't need an asshole like you trying to 'reason' with me!" He tries to shove me back but I catch his hand and pull him back towards me. I grab his arm again, careful not to squeeze an injury I had yet to make a note of, and our eyes meet once more. The rage in his eyes dances like a wild flame and I just hope my ice-blue comes off as similar.

"Maybe I should just punch you a few times instead then, that might work. You can blame me for all of your fucking problems then." I growl in a low, threatening tone and tighten my grip. I throw being careful aside and shove him backwards, towards the closest ruined wall. I plant a firm hand next to his head so it forces him to look at me. I move my face closer to his. "What's more important, Johnny, saving a few lives in this doomed city or the millions around the world in the long run? Think with your head, not with your heart. You can't keep being some hero." He bits his lip and looks away, turning his head so the blood faces toward me. It pains me to see it. "We need you, Four." I add, much softer than anything I've said prior. I'm sure he can hear it in my voice, the quiet fear I have buried so deep inside of me.

It's the fear of losing him. I need you. I could practically say it. It was on the tip of my tongue but what good would it do to admit something like that. Fuck me right now.

John goes still. Then.

"He had something before, you know?" His voice cracks quietly. I close my eyes and stifle a loud sigh. I'm convinced he wakes up every morning and guilt trips himself over inhaling oxygen because the air went through so much to be made in the first place. No longer having to make a point, I pull my face away from his to give him some breathing room. "I had to try and do something... It didn't feel right to leave him out there..."

He stops, then adds in a hushed tone, "I had it the easiest." A small stone falls on the other side of the ruins we're standing in. It's ironic; the sound of the rock dropping is the small but tame surprise. I open my eyes and let the corners of my mouth drop. We all know that's true, but after I finally have him calmed down, I couldn't charge him up again with a stupid comment. It's my nature to start fights but not right now. Maybe later. John continues anyway. "I still do. I'm not you, I'm not Six, I'm not even Number Four anymore at this point, I'm just... John. Soft, generic, _motherly_ John Smith." The word 'motherly' comes out sour, referencing a stupid inside joke that already treads too close to reality for John.

"Well... Shit." I let my sigh go and he looks up at me. His blue depths are still a fire, but of something else. Something I can't define. "Fine. You're getting away with that stunt this once and that's it. This isn't our fault, and the sooner you get that, the better our little army will be." I'm a fucking softie when I need to be. I move my hand from the wall and use it to gently pull him closer. His eyes widen slightly but he doesn't say anything as I place my other hand against his head. I rest my thumb against his chin and turn his head delicately to investigate one of his injuries. How the roles have reversed today it seems. I let out another light puff of air. "Don't you dare scare me again or I'll be the one to beat some fucking sense into your head." I without a second thought rest my head against his. He doesn't seem to care, probably too tired, but he might even be inviting it. It's hard to read him right now. It unnerves me. It's usually spelled out in bold what lives in John's thoughts, but not right now.

He lets out a soft, tired chuckle. It's so faint that I almost have to strain my hearing to pick it up through his weakened voice. I have to keep the smile off of my face at the sound of John's laugh. "Thanks 'Dad', I needed that."

"Don't ruin it, Johnny." I let my grin show at his poor joke. I remind myself that I can always just pound him next time.

A brief scuffing noise, like soles dragging against pavement, snaps me back into reality. I pull back from the wall and turn towards the space where the door had been just in time to see Sammy Goode step into view. His clothes are torn, there's a bulky duffle bag strap clinging to his shoulder and a Mog cannon rests carefully in his hands. He blinks slowly, looking from John to me.

"Some explosion, huh? It was about time I found you two. What's going on here?" Sam asks his last question slowly, raising his brow when directing me.

John and I exchange a brief glance, then I smirk and turn back to Sam. "Just talking."

Sam doesn't look like he's satisfied with the answer, most likely sick of being left out of the alien gossip, but he doesn't press further. He looks cautiously over his shoulder and enters our little fort, dropping his bag and throwing the blaster on top of it. He lets out an exhausted sigh and slides down the crumbling wall.

Then he laughs. Sam's laugh is far more annoying to listen to.

"You know…" He begins, a stupid grin spread across his face, "I am so tired of third wheeling for you, John."

Son of a bitch.


	4. All I Ask

**AN: This short ficlet is based off of a Tumblr drabble ask game and it's shorter than most of the stories in this collection. This one is for the phrase 'all I ask'. It's a post United As One AU where Stohn happens.**

* * *

Henri wouldn't judge. At least John thinks he knows his Cepan well enough to assume that. Other Loric might think differently of him but the Cepan of number Four isn't that type of person. He was fine with John casually seeing the human girl Sarah Hart from time to time, he was alright with him befriending the son of Malcolm Goode, and he was more than happy to take in the stray but old family chimaera, Bernie Kosar.

Surely, he would be fine with this new 'development' too, wouldn't he?

Nine had told him things would find a way to work out and to not be so uptight about this but it was his nature to worry and blow conflicts out of proportion. He knew himself well enough. He knew the list of questions his Cepan could ask like "what about Sarah" or the statements like "loric make your life you know" and he wasn't ready to address any of them.

"Don't make a scene, alright?"

"Johnny, this is so stupid, it's just a-"

John cuts him off with a quick, hard punch to his arm. His boyfriend cursed and pulled a step away from John, securing his palm over the forming bruise. They exchanged a quick glare before John walked away. Nine was an alien of few feelings, maybe this was just something emotional he just didn't get.

Then again, maybe this would be different for Nine if it were his own Cepan Sandor and not Henri. Seeing how much this weird little "meeting" meant to number Four, worthy enough of for a tough fist into his bicep, Nine reluctantly followed.

"So, uh, Henri… the field is nice." He could hear the other Garde's voice carry across the empty field, even with a gentle breeze. Shortly after picking up his voice, Nine found John standing towards a large stone block standing alone amongst the wildflowers and wavy grass. In tribute to following the defeat of Setrakus Ra, the world leaders had felt it right to place a memorial for all of those native to Lorien or the closest of allies that were lost in the war. Sure Sandor's name was among the fallen but to Nine a large, black square in the middle of a field didn't hit the same way it did John.

Maybe it was losing Sarah too that triggered the weird outspoken respect for the dead, Nine thought.

"Last time we spoke in Ohio, I was.. well, for one, straighter." Nine was now at John's side. He had to hold back a snort of laughter at John's little joke by looking down and reading each name that was engraved. His eyes met the names 'Sandor' and 'Devektra' before he closed them and just listen to John talk. "And Lexa's almost done with the ship back to Lorien but… I doubt we'll stay there. There's just too much to repair on Earth still, even if it's been four years. I'm sure you heard but Setrakus demolished whole cities, but I know how much you hated those. I might be going alone to leave your ashes back home." John let out a shaky sigh. They never realized it would be this hard to talk to a gravestone, not even that.

"Well maybe not alone actually. Henri, this is Number Nine by the way, we're… uh, well we're together. You probably didn't see that coming." To Nine, to hear the words "we're together" come out of John's mouth was still an uncomfortable feeling yet so it felt right. He also picked up the pure embarrassment in his partner's voice and let a soft smile across his face. "Sarah's… she's gone now but… I think she'd be ok with this. Who knows, you probably saw her already and don't need me to tell you. I wish you could have, you know, actually met him. You're a better judge of character than I am, he's kind of abrasive but we're making it work. I… I came out here today so you could kind of meet him… He's kind of an idiot too."

"Hey, be nice, I might be a little stupid but at least I'm pretty." Nine interjects. John turns to him and smiles, almost gratefully.

They were there until the sun had set and the air had dropped into a brisk nightly cold. One long conversation about BK and Malcolm later and Nine managed to pull John from the memorial site.

"Do you feel better now or do we have to do this every day?" Nine asks, holding back a groan though deep down he's really worried.

"I'll be fine," John started but instead of adding more about little conversation with the grave, added, "thank you Stanley."

"Yeah yeah, no big deal." Nine replied, at first with a smile then a sigh before adding, "and no, you can't call me that."


	5. Without You

**AN: Another really short drabble once again but this one has a sequel! THIS ONE is actually the shortest one I've written so far. I tied the two Stohn prompt requests I got together. This prompt was for me to somehow use the sentence "Ever wonder if the world would be better off without you… ?" It reads as thought it starts off with that sentence being said.**

* * *

That's when the nauseating feeling settles in. Those dark words feel as though his lips should have bore them life, not his companion's. The blonde Loric who laid beside him was a lot of difficult, frustrating traits. This hollow, loathing wave was not one Stanley was used to. This was a part of John he thought didn't exist, a tortured side his friend learned to hide so well. He'd suspected a change in John once their war on Earth had ended but not this drastic. Sam and Six had also spoken of the changes, regarding John's sudden apathy and laziness with small concern. There were, of course, bigger things on the survivors minds after all, like restoring an entire planet and helping repair the lives on the current one.

Sarah's death had been months ago, the Mogadorian surrender has closely followed it, and here they still were.

 _Still?_ Stanley scoffed to himself. _It's not like he'll heal over night._

Even if he told himself over and over that John needed time, he was done waiting. At least he had held a woman who loved him. At least he lays beside someone else that also could. Dammit.

"Why do you say that?" Stanley asks, struggling to keep his own voice from showing his festering anger. How dare John feel this way and keep it secluded until now. How dare he just reveal it so sporadically? How dare none of others pick up on these changes sooner?

How dare Stanley himself even care about John and his well-being. Emotions were something the older Garde couldn't fathom half of the time, not even after every death and betrayal they had fought against.

"Just a thought." John shrugged half-heartedly against the thin sheets. Even his body language lacked its usual luster. John was typically animated, not energetic so much but ready. John had the charisma to keep going until whatever he worked on was complete. This John was laid back, dull; he was just _different,_ wrong even. The boy he had met years ago, at first a voice and then a figure through the clouds of dust on the other end of his prison block, had life but this post war version didn't want those sparks any longer. This John next to him won the war and still let himself be defeated in the end. A broken victor, a shameful one.

"Yeah right, why else bring it up, huh." Stanley snaps. It's hard to hide his rage now. He's seething, practically feeling the temperature under his skin and lapping his bones rise. "What the hell's been going on with you." He sits up.

"A lot." John replies simply, not taking his eyes off of the sky. At least it would be a sky if they weren't inside of a small government facility. His vision must really be blending in with nothing, not even trying to comprehend the divots in the white ceiling or the fan in its slow roll circling.

"No fuck, sherlock. You're going to listen to me talk about this once and that's it, ok _boss_? You helped save a damn _planet_ ; do you know how many people can say that? You're keeping a dying race alive just by sitting here staring at paint chips all day long and counting little sheep." Stanley doesn't just mean to sound harsh, he wants to. He takes a breath before continuing, talking not only to John but also to himself too. To his dismay, he can feel his temper ease up. "Guess what Johnny, people die in war. Friends, family, guardians, lovers… They can all die and it fucking sucks when they do. Nothing feels worse knowing someone died and you could have done something about it. There's kind of like a hole… That hole will never get filled as hard as you try to plug it, but at least it's trying to close up, right?" He turns his head over, expecting just to see the blonde's blank stare looking off as always but is met with a surprising sea of blue. Not just any blue, John's blue, the same color he first saw as he reached for the side of the metal wall where the blue barrier once stood to confront his savior. Eyes he watched spark with irritation, love, care, and every fruity feeling in between; the eyes he had burned into his memories, the good and the bad. Stanley smiles crookedly. "I've been beating myself up forever now. Do it for them at least, alright?"

"Thanks for trying, Stan." He winces at the nickname but doesn't show it. If it means John's closer to 'fixing his hole', so be it.

"It's what I'm here for."


	6. Not Going Anywhere

**AN: Part 2 of 'Ever wonder' only the difference is using the sentence 'I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.' I like this part more personally than the other one, aha.**

* * *

It's been weeks since they last spoke, since they laid side-by-side and stared up into the atmosphere. Literally. Not a single spoken word. John had once again submerged back into a silent, unfeeling state. His token blue-eyed glint yet again vanished, the bags under them darkening slightly each passing day. His small, dismal frown felt eternal. Even his blonde hair appeared almost gray in natural sunlight.

Stanley was tired. He was tired of rebuilding, of researching, and especially of mothering.

"Get up." Stanley's voice felt like it hadn't been used in weeks despite the constant debates with Six and the long drawn out conversations about moving forward to Lorien with Ella. The rest of the pack was ready to move on, to start over, but here they were all waiting for John.

His words were met with silence. No gentle movement, no quiet breaths, just the sound of a fan running overhead.

"Time to pull yourself together, Johnny."

"Leave me alone." John's voice was heavy and broken. It hurt just to listen to him speak with such defeat.

"I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. You're going to have to live with it." Stanley growls. "I can sit here all night long with you or I can help us get home faster by pulling your ass up, which would you prefer."

"Leave me behind then." That was the last straw, Stanley then snapped.

"Sure thing, asshole." He sneered, stepping into the bunker and slamming the door behind him. John pushed his face into the pillow on the cot. "Let's make this a weekly thing, Johnny. I'm always told I would make a good Prince Charming, want to be Cinderella?"

"Fuck off." John hissed a response in a muffled tone.

"Make me." As soon as the words left his lips, his body was forced backwards against the door. He initially grunted on impact then let out a hearty laugh. John's telekinesis were still top notch at least. "I didn't think you had that bit of rage in you, Johnny boy."

His barb was met with another short string of silence. If his typical snarky self wasn't going to cut it, then Stanley's other course of action, running his mouth, could.

"Because I mean, you're nothing but a fucking wimp now anyway. Some hero icon you turned out to be. Heroic crybaby more like." He took a breath; there was a small, sick pleasure in ridiculing his friend that he hated. After what happened to Eight, Stanley had come to learn how to watch his tongue but using his arrogance to bury people beneath him had been the only successful coping method after his foolishness lead to Sandor's demise. He can't help but feel nostalgic. "I don't get you John. You were the big fucking savior, you beheaded Setrakus Ra yourself and all, but you're still so goddamn emotional about everyone else. People fucking die in war, I'll say it again for you too, people fucking DIE. We're both big fucking losers here, Four, compare your loses to me, I dare you." He stops for a second again, waiting for John to spark to life and pour out his anguish to get pitied. But nothing.

"I liked Eight, you know? Eight was a great guy; we shared the same sense of humor, we had similar values, we were such a good team. How did I repay him for being such a good friend to me? I got him fucking killed. I opened my useless ass mouth and he took the blow. Sandor, well.., Sandor died at my hand for his people. And Maddy, my cute little girlfriend that led me to the hands of the fucking Mogs? She died for her family and who knows, maybe she even felt the brunt of having to trade me for them. Eight, well he died for this fucking piece of shit. He could have died for Marina or Ella, someone worth it but no, he sacrificed his life for me. Dammit Johnny, it should have been me. Marina could still have him, Ella would have grown over me, and you wouldn't have to sit here and listen to this shit." It wasn't the direction he had envisioned his conversation with John going but maybe his blonde friend isn't the only one whose mind and heart is in ruins. "There's no telling what kind of Elder I'm supposed to be either. I'm only a sidekick too, imagine fucking that." He let his small piece conclude with a dramatic huff of air. He prepared his exit.

Then, a glint of hope in the form of John's voice breaks the silence.

"It's better than being the sidekick's mopey, worthless hero." Stanley blinked, stunned that out of everything John has to say, it was with a small joke he chose to begin it all with. "But… I don't know what I'd do without you though, Nine." As he spoke, John rolled over and sat up to face him. When his eyes looked up, for a moment they had their once great luster. "I never imagined having to move on from so many deaths at once and it's all hitting me at once. She was just so good with comforting me, knowing what to say and how to but now…" He trails off, looking down at his feet before closing his eyes. As his lids shut, a single droplet escapes and falls to the sheets of the cot.

Stanley lets out a nervous sigh. As soon as emotions rise, he starts to really feel out of place.

"Well, you can yell at me instead, alright? We've got all day to spit the shit. And well… I may not be a hot blonde but I'm still pretty fine. I see the way you look at me sometimes, Four."

The last ditch effort joke was met with a faint laugh from John, one that made Stanley feel like he had finally won.


	7. Tongue Tied

**AN: I lied again, THIS ONE is the shortest but it's also the stupidest. Another tumblr drabble but for the phrase 'tongue tied.' I had so few ideas for this one because I didn't want to do the obvious kissing format and tried something else.**

* * *

 _John_

"Is it so hard for a guy to get a drink in this place? I'm dying over here." No one entertains Nine as he sits at the head of the table with his own laid in one hand and his elbow planted firmly against the wood. He yawns loudly; I half expect him to kick his feet up. I decide to be the one to act. A big mistake but I am pretty well known for those.

"Is it so hard for you to say please?" I counter a little dry. Nine narrows his blue eyes at me. He lets them drift around, taking in everyone else sitting in the pimp pad's dinning room. Then he smirks.

"That's funny Johnny because you were definitely begging me last night." The room fills with a soft, collective laughter. Everyone has a hearty laugh except for me. Sarah on my right lightly elbows me and struggles to hide her smile. I give her credit for at least trying to help me out. My face feels warm and I hope I'm not blushing. Not because of Nine, but because of the first thought that I visualized and now I'm the center of attention.

I have to make a comeback.

I want a good retort to just pop in my head. There is no way I am letting Nine win. Ever. Even if he usually does. But there's nothing. If I wasn't being watched, I'd actually hit myself in the head. I just let out a quiet groan instead and glare at Nine. He waggles his eyebrows and then, to make it worse, winks at me. I look away.

"Well someone has to." I quietly say in defeat. "You can't flex to yourself in the mirror forever."

"Not your best comeback, Four, you need to brush up, graduate from schoolyard insults, try pull ups." Nine grins in his stupid way and punches me in the arm. "Seeing as you are into it, I do have ways to make you talk."

"Whatever." I mumble, not meeting anyone's eyes. My first instinct with Nine used to be to just slap him in the face and that's what I'm feeling right now.

Nine's hand pushes me again and he whispers under his breath, "just a sissy whatever? You're better than this, Johnny, come on, let me have it."

"In what way?" I retort, the tame, caddy comeback falls off my tongue with ease. Nine laughs at that. At least I have something. "You're on for a lot of things and I might be one of those." I raise my voice a little, hoping someone heard.

"See? Was that hard? You want to punch me in the face, right?"

"So much that sometimes I have to remember you'd break my head with your rock for a head." I let myself show a sheepish grin. Is it bad I'm being honest?

"Then act like it, be the asshole I know and sort of love. Maybe 'really like' is better for me to say." Our voices have gradually states raising, to where, at least I noticed, that most of everyone is paying attention to us talk. Without moving my head, I glance to make sure and feel my smile grow.

"Well… You do really love my asshole, Stanley."

I hear a loud cough, probably from Sam choking on his food, and everyone at the table starts to laugh. That was it. I even threw in the S-word for a good measure. I raise a brow at Nine while he exhales in return. He might be signing but I can hear the soft smile in his response. He's far too good at taking this shit.

"You, my friend, are a little shit."

"Where's my diploma? Or do I have to 'see you after class'?"

"I swear to God, John."


	8. Puppy Love

**AN: The dumb drabbles continue into story number 8 of my collection. I also don't really care for this one either, I just like writing inside of Nine's head a lot. A Tumblr drabble request; my inspirational phrase was 'puppy love.'**

* * *

 _Nine_

I've never been a romantic kind of guy. Feelings and relationships are both far too complicated. I mean I feel, hell, everyone does, and I've done the relationship stuff but I still don't get a damn thing. If love was a language, I'd be the guy who only knows two words and they haven't been used for centuries. I thought I understood my little thing with Maddy a year ago, but apparently not enough to see she was actually deceiving me.

But this sucks. Maybe not entirely, but some of it really sucks.

This whole crush on a guy shit, it's getting to me. It sucks because there's nothing I can do about it except wait it out. I think we're a thing but who knows anymore. What doesn't suck is that just thinking about him makes me happy and calm. My thoughts have been full of him lately.

I sound so fucking dumb.

First of all, he's cute. I hate the word cute but that's what John Smith is, cute. As in really cute, from the scruffy, short blonde hair to those pretty blue eyes. I've never really cared for blue eyes but his are a whole new kind of blue, I swear. Don't get me started on his form. I've stared at him for far too long. Anyone that gets to know John doesn't think far past that since he's kind of like a Mom. Actually, he is the Mom. His over-protectiveness is annoying, there's no arguing with that, John's biggest weakness is he just cares too much about everything. But get him out of his shell a little bit and Johnny's actually pretty cool. He's not scared to talk back and challenge me when I start running my mouth, no matter what I say. He gets me in a way I'm still struggling with. He's so… I dunno, sincere but so daring, I guess, all at once. He's clearly into me, I mean who isn't, but why the waiting-

"Are you in there? Hello! Nine? Nine!" A balled up piece of paper hits me in the head, interrupting my thoughts, and I turn to glare at its thrower. It's Ella, who has a small frown tugging at her lips with a set stare. I relax a little. "Finally I have your attention."

"What's wrong, do I need to give Five another purple nurple?"

"You didn't listen to a word I said!" She huffs and crosses her arms. "You've just been staring at John with a dorky smile on your face, it's kind of gross." I look back in the direction I had dazed off and sure enough, there he was. He was sitting between Eight and Sam, laughing about something I must have tuned out a long time ago. John looks a little uncomfortable, maybe even embarrassed due to the touch of red on his face. Maybe I'm actually the one who's embarrassed. I just got caught gawking at the stupid guy I'm so fascinated with. I don't even know what we are.

"Yeah, and? He's a good looking guy, what about it?" I say a little too quickly. Ella raises a brow and a cheeky smile replaces her frown.

"Why don't you go sit by him if you two are so close? You look a little 'green', Nine."

"Well he's allowed to have friends." I mutter. Ella lets out a wild laugh at this, loud enough that the others could hear us. I quickly look over to make sure they hadn't. Luckily, whatever John and Eight are talking about must be a lot more interesting though John's now covering his face from something said.

"What's so funny about that?" I snap.

"You're not good at hiding your feelings at all! It's written all over your face, go talk to him!" She pushes me as hard as she can.

"There is nothing on my face, I just fell asleep with my eyes open is all!"

"Yeah right, look at you trying to justify it." She smiles. "It's like how Marina played off her little crush in Six and now she's kissing Eight."

"Well Johnny and I haven't kissed yet-" I close my mouth but it's too late. Shit.

Ella's smile grows as she elbows me. "Caught ya! Now get up and go talk to your boyfriend!"

"But," I pause to search for some other half-ass excuse, "he's next to Sam, I'll catch some nerd bug from him breathing on me. We're not even dating, he'd sooner give up BK for adoption than make anything official."

"Nine, no excuses! Go on before he starts to think he's straight and drops you."

"Dammit, fine. I'll try. Get off my back, you're embarrassing." Ella gives me a thumbs up brimming with satisfaction and waves at me as I walk away. Clearly our "thing" is not so on the down low.

 _[i]John[/i]_

"Can I borrow this, thanks." Nine appeared in a flash and picked me up off of the couch before I had a chance to answer. What's bizarre is we were just talking about him. Sam said he had caught Nine staring at me though I'm still pretty sure he was just lost in thought. There's always something stupid going on in his head after all.

There's always something stupid going on in my head too though, and it's all been about Nine recently. We should be hating each other but apparently that's not the case. I can't stop thinking about him, to where it makes me fuzzy. Fuzzy and Nine are words that don't belong together but here they are. There's just something about how he holds himself over everyone that's both so annoying but so captivating. I kind of admire how he just says the first thing that comes to mind.

Just kind of.

He's very nice to look at I'll admit that.

"About time, remember today's date boys because it'll be a big part of our history." Five yawns and stretches in the chair next to Sam but we all decided to ignore him. At least I try to. Five was the first to pick up on the tension between Nine and myself, even before Sarah or Sam. I'll weigh my options.

"I do have legs, Nine, and they work just fine." I sigh, a smile tugging at my lips. He gives me a stern look, then releases my arm and shoves me lightly. It's as affectionate as he gets to me around anyone. It's disappointing and I try to hide it.

"He's all yours. Good luck John!" Eight called after us. I look back briefly, making sure the frown on my face is evident. I have embarrassing friends. Eight is smiling with one eyebrow raised and Sam gives me two thumbs up. The past ten minutes runs through my head and I can't help but wonder about what we were talking about earlier. A person like Nine wouldn't touch a thing like me but Eight and Five seem set and according to Five, so is Ella. I feel a little nervous.

"What the hell do you need luck for?" Nine turns his head and asks.

"What's this all about?" I counter as soon as we're out of earshot. I glance over my shoulder again just to make sure no one had followed after us. Nine usually doesn't give a shit over who knows what about him, so whatever he wants to say, he wants it to be secret.

Or special. It could be special.

Keep yourself together, John.

"Just shut up and listen to me for once."

"I've been listening to you."

"No like, actually listen to me and stop talking dumb." Nine growls, trying not to get too mad. I raise a brow and nod once, silently asking him to continue but he doesn't add anything. I frown. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, as he's being careful not to say the wrong thing. He lets out a loud sigh and just says, "Fuck it."

"What are y-" My words are cut off as he leans in and presses his lips to mine. I freeze, completely taken off guard. Is this actually happening or is someone going to punch me in the arm and wake me up. Whatever it is, I'm going to take it for as long as I can. I wrap my arms around his neck as his hands find their place on my sides. We are actually kissing.

The best part is that he wants to kiss me. I got number Nine to actually kiss me and I have no clue how. I'm definitely not used to this. It's like I'm floating in the air. The warm, fuzzy feeling comes back; only this time it's everywhere.

He pulls back from the kiss and our eyes meet. I have to catch my breath and stare at his ice-blue depths at the same time, which is impossible.

"I just want something more is all. It was... just going to be a lot easier for me to do something rather than try and talk about it." He grins. "We both know I'm not too good with words."

"And yet you're still talking." I counter, just waiting for his snarky response.

Nine shakes his head and sighs. He sighs but there's a stupid smile on his face.

"You're lucky that you're pretty, Johnny."


	9. Green Vase

**AN: More prompt pieces! This one I got 'I can't believe you bought the green vase' or something along those lines. Sandor is Nine's Rich, Legal Guardian AU! Stohn with a blushing of Devedor. This one is silly dumb so I like it more than the previous two.**

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"We're never going with your dad to a rich shit show again." John groaned to Stanley as quietly as possible while his guardian Sandor browsed. They stood in a huge, frigid vendor hall, completely decorated with sellers who auctioned off household products and fashion at prices that would give John's adoptive father, Brandon, a serious heart attack. The three of them have been walking up and down aisles full of expensive company stands for hours now and John was ready to walk the twenty miles home.

Who names their son 'Sandor', anyway? It sounded uncomfortably pretentious to him but since he was just beginning to be around Stanley's wealthy family, John learned how to hold his tongue. This had been one of Stan's "brilliant" ideas to get to know his lifestyle better.

Stanley doesn't react to John's complaining, just shrugged before replying. "He's looking for something to put in the living room, something that can pull the whole thing together." He glances at his companion briefly before looking around the stands. "I think we've been down this one alley a few times already..."

"Yeah, because having a window for a wall that looks over all of Michigan avenue doesn't do shit for it." John countered dryly, pulling his nicest jacket closer to him. He was used to snow and wind but not rich people air conditioning. "Of course we've been here before, your dad's obsessed with vases."

"Uncle. And it's not him that wants the room to be perfect." Stanley corrects him without turning to face John. He appears to be lost in thought off at the back of Sandor's suit. John follows his gaze to the speckled vase behind a plexiglass display case. "Think he's done finally. Just... hold out a little longer for me, Johnny." Before John can reply, his… "friend" walks off towards the jeweler Sandor was standing near. John has no choice but to follow, eyeing the company vendors with quick glares to avoid talking to anyone who can probably smell "Walmart regular from Nowhere Special, Ohio" on his skin.

"I cannot believe you bought the medium-sized vase." He can hear his date laughed to his uncle. They were waiting for the next step of the purchase as the jewelry vendor's extra help carefully boxed the clear case. John hoped they didn't expect the three of them to help carry it down the street to the Hancock center. The image of the three sharp dressed guys taking the box in a triangle formation and crab walking down the shopping center of Chicago make him kind of nervous.

With his luck, he'd be the one to drop it and crush everyone's dreams.

"She'll love it, it has plenty of those emerald green gems that match the colors in most of her stage wear." Sandor was mid conversation with Stanley over the peculiar pottery when John stepped up behind them.

"She had an album titled 'Red' though, dude, wouldn't something ruby red make more sense for her?"

"Red's last year's color, this year is all about the green apparently. Do I look like I know what's in and out?" Sandor tugs on the lapel of his black suit. "I just know that if it sparkles, Devektra will probably like it. Besides, I already bought it and if she doesn't like it, you do something with it."

"Finally." John suddenly adds with a loud sigh. He meant to keep the thought to himself but at this rate, the Ohio native was another minute away from buying a bus ticket and changing his mind on the rest of the Chicago vacation.

Sandor turns his head to the bored blonde boy hugging his coat and raises a brow, a smug grin suddenly on his face. "Well, looks like we almost lost your boyfriend back there, Stanley. You could have told me to speed it up, John."

"Woah, no way, it's not like that." Stanley snaps at his uncle, cutting John off before he uttered a sound. Sandor's smug grin only grows as he rolls his eyes.

"I've seen that look in your eye before, Stan, remember Maddy?"

"Yeah, it's the one that I get when I find love in ripping you a new one." Stanley growls quietly. It was best not to say anything that Sandor could use to his advantage, John decided. After all, he wasn't going to be the one to break the news and not in this building of Prada bags and Ferrari demos.

"I don't care if you like boys, Stanley-"

"I said it's NOT like that!"

Sandor looked ready to reply and continue teasing his nephew when the dealer returned with a clipboard and pen to sign the vase off to the Worthingtons. This is some ridiculous high-end production to sell a little vase. The dealer smiled, almost knowingly at John while Sandor signed his name on the dotted line. Stanley turned around to John and pulled him off to the side while his uncle closed the deal. The taller boy put a hand around his shoulder and pulled him a little closer.

"See? Just needed a little bit longer." He smiled, something John wasn't still exactly used to.

"I have the Greyhound app pulled up on my phone, Stanley. If there is another state fair for the one percent, I'm gone." He frowned deeply in response.

"You haven't even met my aunt yet, this is nothing compared to her world tour." He laughed quietly. "Next time, I'll make some shitty excuse and we can do something normal."

"I'm actually scared of what you think is normal." John couldn't keep his smile off of his face any longer.

"What if I told you it doesn't involve green vases, designer suits, and this thing?" Stanley proposed.

"Honestly, if it's at least Legoland, I'll be happy." John admits. He felt ready to tear off his collared shirt and tie under his coat and hole up in his favorite hoodie.

"Well, you better be happy because you just might be going home to Ohio with a ten thousand dollar vase."


	10. By Chance

**AN: This is a College/First Date AU for Stohn and it's a lot longer than most of my drabbles. I'm actually really proud of this one, it's 4.4K words now and when I went back to revise it, I switched the original text from first person to third person perspective! Maybe I'll make a sequel for it since it cuts off so weird but we'll see!**

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The woman on the other line ends the brief conversation with a cheery "see you soon" before it goes dead, solidifying the plan. His plan. The plan Stanley Worthington had been thinking about and rearranging in his mind all day. The phone stays next to his ear for a moment as he tries to piece together what just happened. All according to plan? He sure hopes so. It took him about twenty minutes of mental prep to make a forty second phone call; he believes he has hit a new low. The boy powers down the device and immediately fall backwards onto the hard couch. He did it though. He did it and there is no going back now. There were a few hours before the reserved time, four long hours before possibly the biggest night of my life. Stanley drop the phone hard on the cushion next to me and let out a breath then rake his fingers through his long, dark hair, just realizing how sweaty it was. How nervous He had been.

He doesn't get nervous; he doesn't even know how to look at himself. This is pathetic, Stanley Worthington doesn't get anxious. He takes a lot of shit by the horns. He isn't afraid to shove a journalist out of his face and purposely wear the same shirt in public to avoid daily photographs.

He has a date in four hours. An actual date. Stanley hasn't had an actual date in a long time, most of his "dates" were either hookups or popular kid high school and sorority dances. Sandor and his wife, pop sensation Devektra, have hundreds of pictures of him holding some pretty girls by the waist and faking a smile for the group shot. Them and every news reporter in town have enough for a very long video slideshow. He's probably worn every color of collared shirt or vest in existence. As anyone could guess, none of those dates went past the dances, it just hasn't worked out. Ironically, none of the friend groups stayed either. They're all just a reminder that Stanley hasn't had a serious girlfriend since very beautiful, very famous, and very boring Maddy and we all know how well that went. Every tabloid has its own story, you might as well pick one and read up on it it. Read how she single handedly tried to screw up his life and make him out into being a complete monster. Like her, most of the "close" friends were either hand picked or only interested because he had something big to my name.

Stan became kind of a loner recently because of the attention. I mean, everyone knows the name "Worthington" but none of them like to hang around. At least so he thought.

Those big, rich parents don't know about him going out tonight actually and that's how he likes it. He dreaded the idea of telling Vek as Sandor that he's on a date and Vek then needing to dress him up too much and insisting to meet the lucky bastard. She might just chase him away.

Him. Stanley is going on a date with a him; it might be why every [i] _girl[/i]_ hasn't worked out so well recently. He's known to enjoy both males and females, that's not the problem. It's just the 'date' part, that's the problem.

A smile creeps up on his face just thinking about the quiet yet sassy blonde boy. They had met recently, maybe a month ago through what the regular college kids like to call the "wealthy assholes" club on campus. Stanley was the wealthy asshole in the club, the mysterious he was one of the caterers who is probably only going to school here in Chicago because of a scholarship. It wasn't love at first sight though Stanley found him pretty cute after a few passing looks. Short, messy, dirty-gold hair, blue eyes similar to the color of bright gems, and surprisingly toned for a poor college kid.

Yeah, he went there. From the top down to the bottom and around every little curve.

It was at a welcome back to the semester party. He had bumped into him while trying to get away from a girl Stanley had applied too much charm on. It started off smooth with some sly flirting from yours truly; flirting is usually pretty harmless and he felt ready to try dating again this time. But... this time had ended with her knowing his face and immediately and wanting to get closer so she could know more about Devektra. Instead of saying "sorry" and dashing away like the other waiters, the blonde had shoved him back then snapped at Stanley to watch it. The little employee had pushed back the big, bad rich kid without a second thought. He had guts, Stanley liked that. If he had been any other guest, he would have told the caterer not to touch and pushed him to the floor in front of everyone.

His smile grows at the memory. He got on his last nerve fast after that. He'd purposely bump into him and single him out to get me stuff, but it had been easy and better than dealing with the others. It was a lot more entertaining than the party that was for sure. He didn't even realized how caught up in the blonde boy he was until the catering company started cleaning up. He refused to tell Stanley his name or any personal information; it was like a game. A game no Worthington was ever losing.

Luckily for Stan, he didn't even have to try to win it either. He found the yellow haired boy the next week in one of my general lectures. First class or two, he purposely ignored Stanley when he had taken a place next to him. Despite the cold shoulders and the dry responses, Stan found himself becoming a bit more attached. He knew how much was pissing him off and I loved it. He tried something new the third day; he sat next to his new friend but didn't say a word. No barb, no teasing, nothing. They just stayed there in a thick silence, a long twenty minutes or so, until he finally talked to me. First thing he said?

"It's John."

Stanley thought he could have laughed about it forever. He poked at John about it the rest of the class. Stan won the first game and now here they are, four hours prior to date night.

It took a little tweaking and help from John's two friends Naveen and Marina to help invite him out tonight. Stanley tried a few different ways but John kept assuming he had meant just to hang out; no one was this oblivious, he didn't think it was that hard to put two and two together.

He could kiss him and he'd still have no clue. Let's leave the thought of kissing for later

Four hours, and then it was game time. I pull myself to my feet and decide to get that shower done with. Figuring out what I should wear will take another half hour without Vek's help. I'm bad at matching my colors.

"Is this really all you have? What happened to the high school prom suit? Or that one collared shirt from my sorority's winter formal last year, that was a nice shirt." The lovely Sarah Hart, John's closest friend since back in the horrible days of Paradise High, was pulling at all of the clothes hanging in the boy's room room. The bed, the house beagle Bernie Kosar in the middle of his nap, and the floor surrounding the group was completely covered in John's clothes. Everything from shirts to boxers. This is ridiculous.

"Well guys don't buy the suits, we can't afford to. Why is it so bad that I just want a simple collared shirt from Kohls?" John scratches the back of my head. He didn't want to begging thinking about coming back to the house he shared with Sam, Cody, and Naveen and having to clean up the clothes. He was already nervous for whatever was in store for tonight.

"You're going on a date, John, not to a frat party. You can't wear a flannel with dress pants and your colors have to match."

"What kind of dream frat parties are you thinking about? All two parties I've tried had keg stand contests or guys in bad tanks who say 'bro'. All two of those parties got busted too."

Sarah turns and looks back at him briefly, then shifts her attention to the now half empty closet again. Her girlfriend, the rude and dangerous Maren, is lying on the one part of John's bed that isn't covered in flannels and high school shirts. She yawns loudly and sits up, balling up a "Paradise High Invaders" shirt with a picture of a retro Space Invader and throwing it into the pile near Sarah. She adds herself to the conversation. "Well you better pull some cash together or try Goodwill if this goes well. This isn't just some guy you're seeing, Smith, it's Stanley Worthington. His parents are some of the richest in the area. Hell, the world. You can't get away with Cleveland, Ohio Walmart clothes forever. You'll probably end up at some steakhouse that freshly slaughters the finest of Wisconsin's dairy kings and grills them with golden flames from gods."

"His parents might hate my style, yeah, but he seems completely normal about it." John mutters to himself. Maren and he get along, but only for Sarah's sake. "Besides, we're college kids, fancy isn't really the first thing either of us would want to eat."

Normal definitely wasn't the right word to describe Stanley. He is… interesting. Interesting can be a good and a bad thing. For one, he just doesn't look like a Stanley. At all. He's far too dark and brooding, not to mention beautiful for a dorky name. For two, Stanley was the type who always needed the last word or laugh, someone who demanded attention of everyone for at least five minutes a person or else. People didn't challenge him because he was the boss, anything he said went. His style, the way his words can roll coolly off of his tongue or bite back in a heated moment, is shaped to get him what he needs. He's super embarrassing too, he doesn't give a shit who sees him or singles him out. He can even play off any gag like it's nothing. A challenge. That's it, he's a challenge. A big gay challenge.

Well, kind of gay. John didn't like really know what he was.

Stanley's the master of acting for a crowd, putting on that smile and his perfect, humble performance for anyone that could benefit him later on. John is aware the millionaire son could just be pulling another trick on him, but he sure wasn't going to let Maren of all people get under his skin.

John felt a slight blush rising to his cheeks just thinking of him. "Have you even met him before? I didn't think so."

"No but of course you had to." Sarah looks over her shoulder with a smug smile on her face. "Sam and Cody swear they have never seen him, even though they were working at the same party a month ago. We just happen to see you leaving your History Lecture with a hot guy every Thursday. I could have sworn he was homeless because that same Hawaiian shirt every day is ridiculous." She pauses, then let's out a long sigh. "The one night my gay best friend meets the boy of his dreams and I wasn't even there to see it."

John face flushes further, causing the tips of his ears to grow warm. "Whoa, I am not that gay! Partially, sure, but not fully!" He stammers.

Maren cackles. "Come on, John, we all know that isn't true! Anyone in this house can tell you so!"

A voice any of them could recognize as Sam's calls up from downstairs an "I second that!." John groans. Sarah and John have been each other's cover-ups since they meet at a lame junior high dance but apparently it wasn't good enough anymore.

Cody's head suddenly leans into the ruined room. "Yeah, sorry John, it wasn't that hard to figure out." John frowns and open his mouth to say something snappy in response but the brunette dips out. As quick as he peeked in, Cody was gone and already at the stairs down the hall that led to the back entrance of the house. "Mark owes me twenty bucks!" The three hear him shout excitedly down the hall.

John sighs and slaps a hand on his face. At least Naveen was out with his long-term girlfriend Marina tonight, or else he'd join in. "Fine, I'm pretty damn gay, happy?" He admits with defeat.

Maren smirks with her victory. "You also totally glossed over the "boy of his dreams" bit, but at this rate," she indicates to the clothes piling up next to her, "he'll be done with you after tonight. In a few ways." She waggles her brows with a soft laugh.

John's look of defeat turns into a glare. He prepares a retort just as a suddenly ball of fabric hits him and drapes over his eyes. He pulls the shirt off of my face and stares up at it. It's a dark blue collared shirt, one neither he nor Sarah had seen since freshmen year of high school. Would it still fit? He turns toward Sarah who's standing with her arms crossed and a victorious smile.

"I knew you would have at least something for the top half." She proudly states.

"Good job, babe, you can only try to fix him, he has to want to change into a real person and not be a robot anymore by himself."

"One of these days Maren, you'll be begging for my help." John forces a smile and ushers the two of them out of my room before she can reply. He swiftly closes the door behind them and stands still for a moment, staring at the dark toned wood. He turns around and leans his now sweaty back against the door, collecting thoughts.

He's going out tonight, something the dirty blonde boy almost never do unless it was with the gang.

He's going on a date even. A big gay date. Tonight. He's going on a freaking date. With a boy. A gorgeous boy too, with his long dark hair, pale blue eyes, tan skin, and strong builds. He makes even a suit look better, like how the fabric hugged his muscle at that party. John has had to put up with sweats and baggy shirts since then of course. But even then, he still looks good.

He hate admitting that he actually really likes Stanley's nagging attention, how he singles him out and teases him. Or admitting that John possibly likes him at all. To John, Stanley is really annoying and impossibly embarrassing but there's just something about him that stuck.

He lets out a long sigh, trying to calm himself before changing into the blue shirt Sarah threw. He undoes the first two buttons and pushes through the hole in the top, then smoothens it down. It still fits, they were in luck. Should he look for a tie? He looks around the piles of clothes and schoolwork that was actually his bedroom, disappointed that he doesn't seem have any kind of mirror handy. The plain blue shirt and a pair of black pants will just have to do. He scans a second time for anything else that might be possibly needed, then down at the mess of fabric. Fuck it. John tosses the old shirt he had been wearing on one of the many piles on the bed, then leaves the ruins behind. He decides to just deal with it later. He rushes down the steep stairs and through the left back door at the bottom, the one that leads into the bottom half of the duplex house.

Everyone, at least everyone who pays rent, is gathered on the first level, aka the girl's part of the house, in the kitchen. They turn to look at John as soon as the door behind him creaks shut. It's almost like they all had been waiting for the reveal. John, however, hardly find this that exciting, and if it were Sam or Cody, he'd probably just say congrats and pat them a "good luck" tap on the back. The two who were just named exchanged looks for a second, then direct at to John simultaneously. Sam grins and nods his approval while Cody squints at me with his mouth slightly open. Sarah puts her hands together, clearly proud of "her work" while Maren just looks bored with her arms crossed. Their fourth roommate, Daniela, is nowhere to be found, probably because she's new to the friend circle and doesn't really care. John honestly doesn't blame her.

"Were your eyes always that color?" Cody breaks the short-lived silence and asks. It explains the squinting. "Because that's impossible, there's no way they can be that blue." John once again feels his cheeks begin to redden a little.

"Must be the shirt, you clearly know someone with taste." Sarah boasts with a big smile. It takes John a lot to not slap a hand over his face at them both. Instead, he just smiles tensely, ready to duck out of the attention at any second now.

Maren smirks, a signal that another one of her renowned insults left aside for John Smith was ready. "Too bad Stanley will probably end up ripping the buttons off of it when he-"

"Ok, no, enough of that." Sam interrupts and gives her a stern look. No one could be more grateful for it, she's getting out of control. "We get it, John's not good enough for him."

Never mind, John thinks with a sigh, I hate my friends.

"I'm glad everyone agrees with me." Maren adds.

"You know, sometimes, I wish I had more people to choose from. But then I remember it doesn't get much worse than any of you." John exhales; a small, stupid real smile floats across his face. Even if they acted as if they didn't like him, they were all still friends. "Well, I guess I'll be going now." He adds, and quickly brushes past everyone to get to the front door and retrieve his coat.

"Use protection!" Maren and Cody both call after. He can just imagining the two of them high fiving it out. The slight sound of creaking floorboards alters John that someone is following and turns to see Sarah a step behind me. He pulls the light jacket on and she rests her hand on my shoulder.

"Just relax and have a good time, John, that's all that matters." She says, squeezing his arm reassuringly before turning back to rejoin the gang in the kitchen. He smiles to himself, snags a quick hat from the coat hook, and duck out of the house into the winter air.

The one upside to going out with someone in the winter is the paparazzi have a better exchange of leaving the two alone, but that's about it. The sun sets about four o'clock and suddenly the planet they live on freezes over. Maybe it's just Chicago and the ridiculous Midwestern winter weather that hits every year. The Worthington family had to stay in a big city of course; Vek couldn't be caught in a place like Milwaukee or even Pittsburgh with her good looks. Stanley frowns just thinking about it. After all, he'd always be a twenty out of ten anywhere in the north, did it really matter?

He leans against the side of the restaurant, a few feet from the entrance complete with an outdoor podium used only in the summer and a canopy. He was about twenty minutes early for the reservation. It was inside his last minute in case of emergencies plan the handsome boy's brain threw together. It was all the sake for precaution, as had been throwing on a long black coat to hide his designer suit and even a hat to cover his recognizable face and signature long hair. All just to make sure some amateur photographer doesn't have any bright ideas to get a snapshot and score a quick job from the Tribune.

"Stanley?" John's familiar voice calls softly. He turn to the left, towards the sound, and smiles. He wears a light blue jacket zipped up to his neck and a hat with a ridiculously large fluff ball over his head. But his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes stand out, they prove to Stanley that this is in fact John he was talking to.

"Aren't you freezing, it's cold as tits out here." The chilled teen asks with a smile, then lets out a puff of smoky air as if to prove it.

John shrugs. "I'm kind of used to cold temperatures being from Ohio and all. I don't mind heat much either." He pauses, then raises an eyebrow. "How long have you been standing here? Your nose is bright red."

"Enough. You take a long time to get ready, you don't need to use make up for me, Johnny, I'm just a regular guy." Stan holds back his laughter when John glares back. He's too easy.

"I actually wear a mask everyday to hide my shitty inner demons." John replies dryly. Yet another thing Stan liked about John, he always had something snarky or stupid ready to reply with. He continues to keep the smile from showing.

"I'd love to sit out here and talk about how pretty you are but we have a table waiting for two." Stanley grins and turns his back to start walking before John can reply. He hears his date laugh quietly to himself and then the careful snow crunched footsteps following behind him.

"I think I'm, uh, underdressed…" John smiles uncomfortably after they've sat down. Their table was bordering the large window that was overlooking the city. John hadn't realized the restaurant wasn't on the first floor but about four to five stories up from the entrance they greeted each other at. The lighting in the small but fancy dinner was dim, the music was soft without lyrics, and the wine racks went from floor to ceiling. This was definitely not his element anymore. Where were all of the parties of friends eating wings watching the football game?

"What about overdressed? Because I think you're overdressed. You should just take your shirt off." Stanley winks, his head propped by his hand and his elbow resting in the table.

His date frowned. "Between my one shirt and your _six_ piece suit with a tie, who's really too much here?"

"My red dress was still drying, sorry." He laughed when John turned his head away from him entirely.

The waiter came maybe a beat later with their menus, bread and butter to snack on, and the wine list. As much as a tall glass sounded good, Stanley didn't want to make too much of a Hollywood style impression on John. If he was lucky, the blue dress shirt was at least from Express. So they passed on wine.

Stanley glances up from his menu to gauge John's reaction to the options. For one, this steakhouse wasn't cheap for someone who lived the suburb way of life to the bone. The way his date's blue eyes widened told the dark haired boy that he was now reading all of the prices listed next to their select entrées.

"Are you sure… We should be here?" John stutterer. Stanley just smiled in response. He knew to expect a relatively shy reaction from John but not like this. Though maybe he should have done a little more research on being casual.

This was a place his family visited often, mainly because Sandor had pretty bold friendship with the owner, Reynolds and his wife Adelina. They got in almost everywhere with fantastic discounts or his parents knowing someone. Sandor and Devektra's long time best friend, Lexa, were working on a revolutionary software project. Crayton, Lexa's fiance, had a less glamorous or 'sophisticated' position in his field, one Stanley hasn't even bothered asking about, but Crayton was probably the best not-uncle but acts like he's an uncle. His caring, goofy personality made him that family member that all of the cousins looked forward to getting presents from.

Apparently, Stanley couldn't help but ponder; it was impossible for him to know anyone with regular names. John is one of the only 'Johns' he'd ever taken the chance to get to know better, maybe it's because most average Johns don't look like John Smith. He takes this chance to crack a sort of inappropriate "I'm filthy rich" joke.

"You're right, should have gone to that exclusive diner near Willis Tower." His cheeky expression was met with a deadpan.

"I'm serious, Stanley-"

"Well you're not buying so relax, Johnny boy. Just take a deep breath and let yourself live for one night." Stanley reasons. "I'm the one who asked you out after all, so next time when you get the balls to talk to me, you can pick what we do."

John's eyes flickered up and his mouth twitches into a small smile. "Alright, you win."

Step one, Stanley thought to himself, looked like it was settled but after this, only a wild imagination could plan where this night was about to go next.


	11. Not Like This

**AN: A prompt for Tumblr that went a bit longer than most of the other stories in here. This one has a _graphic trigger warning_ as it goes into some gory-ness but not horribly detailed. I got the OTP prompt 'reacting to the other crying about something' and decided to make it darker than my other tumblr prompts. I'm pretty proud of this one also, so please enjoy!**

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They lost everyone. He lost everyone, all of his friends, dead. Henri, The other Garde, the humans, they were practically all gone. Each and every one of them were taken.

Just about.

It was soon to be all of them. Crimson ichor covered the last standing Garde's shaky, pale hands as he gritted his teeth and forced his copy legacy to connect with his companion's gaping wounds. There was so much blood, almost too much for his mimicked repairing legacy. If only he were as skilled as Marina had been at this. If only he wasn't meant to be such a copycat, a placeholder. He pushed harder, reaching with his energy for the raw siding of tan skin to pair together, anything to spare him some time to finish the healing process. But, for one of the first times since that fated summer back in Paradise, he felt pure heat eating away at his fingertips. He was burned out, almost extinguished entirely, and if he pushed any further he would probably pass out.

He would lose Nine too. He was going to lose him. The single fear weighed against him like the entire world had toppled on top of him. John squeezed his eyes shut and pushed again, biting back sounds of pain from the immediate agony in his hands. When the boy opened his eyes, he could see his vision start to darken. Everything hurt, from his hands and his wounds to every piece of his shattered heart. Every piece felt as though it flew by, almost as though each shard cut him somewhere inside. Every bit, every sting was a representation of a lost friend, all bringing back the good memories. Sarah's beauty, Sam's humor, BK's loyalty. Adam's hope, Marina's kindness, Six's strength. Ella's determination, Eight's selflessness, Five's return. Daniela's ambition, Malcolm's knowledge, Henri's wisdom.

Then Nine. Just Nine. There was a lot of words that could partially but not fully describe Nine. John couldn't think of a single quality of him that he would never forget. He knew there were many since this after all was the ill tempered, irrational, frustrating Garde John spent more time slapping his face over than actually supporting. But still, nothing. Nine had so many qualities; it was hard to tell the right from the wrong. His eyes stung and produced a single tear.

Next to Sam, this dying alien has been one of John's closest friends, and he couldn't even think of a single redeeming quality he possessed. His scorched hands were muddied with Nine's scarlet blood, a sickening reminder that he couldn't fabricate something. Here they were though John was no stranger to healing Nine. He knew Nine's tolerance for pain was high when he had casually held out a swollen, shattered hand to be mended back at the Chicago penthouse a night only weeks ago now. He remembered the anxiety of seeing his friend broken, possibly dying, at the feet of Number Five and having to carefully restore every broken bone and bloodied muscle. He reimagined the cruel decision he had to make to save not only Nine but Five's life as well; the choice that almost lost him that close friend. He could practically feel the concentration it took to heal Nine's head, the heavy exhaustion even the small scrapes brought because all of his effort had been directed to finding the missing Garde in the first place. More tears dropped. Tears of exhaustion, tears of anger. Tears of sadness. He didn't want to be beaten. Even if it was with his death, he could not stand to be defeated by Nine.

When the blood crusted skin finally felt as though it pulled a pinch with his power, John pushed again. Not like this. Not after everything was he going to lose Nine like this.

"Not like this." John mumbled to himself, "you've had worse, you're not going out like this, stay with me." The last part came out as a painful sob. John bit his lip to keep more pathetic sounds from escaping. Another cold tear dripped from him, this time onto his fallen friend. "Come on, dammit, stay with me."

He wasn't almost thrown off of the Chicago skyline for their friendship to end like this. He didn't spend the most painful but exhilarating twenty hours of his life in a car with the bastard weeks ago just for the same one to die in his arms like this. The deep talks that fell so far into Nine's hidden darkness that would encircle back to the empty arguments and stupid side remarks about Sarah and Six.

A sudden lightweight on his knuckles, soft as a feather, pulled him from his dull memories. His eyes shot wide open to see a bruised, tan hand draped delicately over his as they remained pressed against the gaping injury. His stomach felt as though it dropped out of him entirely. He tried to look off but felt his legacy begin to lessen then immediately refocused. Nine was awake and John was too scared to face his patient, it could cost him a life. It would also cost him his pride.

But Nine was alive.

"Don't ruin my perfect form."

Nine's voice shook with his stupid barb. John was almost overcome with the need to punch him square in the mouth. Here he was, so close to losing the only remaining friend he had left, covered in blood and sweat, and that was the awaited reply he got. The joke was just so… Nine to say that it was almost unbelievable. He hated the blissful relief that flooded him. Tears leaked and fell harder and a sob escaped. Under his fizzing power source, Nine's wounds finally felt as though they were closing. John hadn't realized how long he was sitting here, that he actually had enough energy to save him. He pulls his hands back, his Ximic quietly dying at his fingertips; he never thought he would consider a moment of powerlessness also being a time of relief.

Nine laughs weakly. He tries to sit up but John leans forward and lightly holds him back. His eyes wide in slight panic, quickly examining the tan skin that mere moments ago was pouring red. "Really, Mom?"

"You should take it easy, I really don't know how well I healed you." John stutters and meets his friend's dark eyes. No going back now. Nine cocks an eyebrow. "What, what's wrong with you now." John immediately snaps, turning his gaze away so his red, swollen eyes were tucked from sight.

"You really were… crying, huh." His friend replied carefully.

"I… Well…" John was embarrassed, so embarrassed that he swore he felt real heat rising in his cheeks. He frowned and turned back to see Nine sitting up, an elbow resting against his knee. His dark blue eyes were lost in something, and a small frown pulled at his lips. "Seriously, what."

"It's just odd." Nine shrugged.

"Odd?"

"You're always the 'let's go fuck shit up but on my mark and with your helmet' friend, not the one who gets teary eyed over a little blood. It just seems wrong."

"Everything is wrong." John replies heavily, dropping his gaze to his hands. The pale skin was cracked and caked with a mix of fresh red and dry brown blood. It made him want to vomit.

"'Suppose you're right." Beat. Then, John felt his mass suddenly pull forward and into a tight embrace. Just something else to add to the list of wrongs was his immoral friend giving him a hug. A close, almost warm hug, one he would have given to Sarah when they would have reunited. Did he hug back or would that make this even worse?

"Thanks Johnny."

"For... what?"

"Just… Thanks for still being here, alright? Don't make this weird." Nine broke their hug and looked away.

A word popped into John's head. The word he had missed earlier, he finally thought of one.

'Balance.'

In the end, when it was just the two of them left, there was balance. They equaled the other out.


	12. Awake

**AN: Another Tumblr drabble! This one inspired by the prompt "Things You Said When You Thought I Was Asleep" and well... I'm not a fan of how this turned out overall but I think ti's because I wanted to expand it big time and just couldn't get myself to push the story further? If that makes sense. Enjoy. Takes Place as an added FoF scene in a world where Stohn has a change of happening**

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John couldn't sleep. He has been tossing and turning for little over an hour now after heading in to avoid any possible drama. They were at war for their world and the human's world, he needed a clear head.

"There's just a lot to say and I don't know where the fuck to start." The low, rough voice of Number Nine drew John's attention from trying to sleep, not like he was getting anywhere. He had turned in the earlier with a serious headache from practicing his legacies for most of the night. Nine claimed to have needed his help, just in case something went wrong with his training. The things he did for the rest of the Garde, though the amount of Number Nine he has been seeing over the last week was… alarming. He tunes out the other voice as he turns over towards the nightstand. Holding in his groan, he clicked on the alarm clock next to the guest room's bed to check the time. 12:46 A.M. Well it could be worse. It had been almost a week since he'd gone out to search and retrieve Number Five and they'd spent a lot of their time planning where to go with their war next. Endless days of training, of attempted bonding. Not just with the fellow Garde but his now ex girlfriend too. It's just too much in the allotted time and it didn't feel like there was a lot of progress.

These two idiots outside had no respect for anyone else's schedules clearly. John rolled over so his face was laying in his pillow and stifled a second groan. At least his legacy abuse headache was gone.

"What do you have to lose? Think about it, you two are practically married." Another voice, the low voice of the mysterious Number Five, spoke up. Nine and Five having a civil conversation was enough to warrant a worry for John. Not to mention the second bit. He quickly sat up in his bed and considered getting out entirely. He swung his legs over the side when Five spoke again.

"How many years have you been crushing?" John paused, trying to piece together a conversation he was only hearing half of. Crushing? Number Nine? The two thoughts seemed far too different to try and connect, especially right now. Nine closed himself off from everyone, John doubted he would open up to just anyone he'd met. It took almost tossing away one of his own kind to get even a glimpse to the kind of person the Garde was. He waited for the slapping sound of skin contact that he was sure would follow Five's question. Or the hard echo and the crunching bones of Nine's knuckles, just like last time. But nothing. That just made him worry more.

"Who says it's crushing," Nine snapped. "You're reading too into it, Frodo, you don't know a thing about me."

"Well you're talking to me about it, dickhole. That's enough for me to find this whole thing weird." Five replied dryly. He might as well be a mindreader. It was possible, they didn't know a single thing about Five aside from his two legacies and his sour tongue. And his need to humiliate Nine. "Well, let's start simple."

"No."

"I mean, have you always been this g-"

"Bisexual." Nine interjected immediately. Nine had told them about Maddy after all. John knew very little about her but from the way Nine spoke of her at dinner the other. Got, it was a raw memory. He remembered Nine's persistence when they rise met, warning him about keeping humans as close friends and especially lovers. He'd assumed the Garde was just paranoid, delusional. He'd also assumed he and Sarah were forever. How times have changed. He casted a sad look to the empty bedside next to him. Maybe forever would just mean she had a place with him for eternity but not the same way.

"Ok, ok, bi. Don't hurt me. Not like you can."

"Whatever." John winced at the defeat in Nine's voice. He pulled his head up and angled his ear towards the pair again. Nine wasn't someone who fell to his knees so easily. He always needed the last laugh, the last line. Even if it would get him killed, Nine had to open his mouth.

"Just a whatever? Really? No stupid joke, no fighting?" Five pressed.

"I consider myself more pansexual but yeah, whatever, you burned me out. Fucking congrats."

"Well hear me out-"

"I already did, stop wasting my time."

"They went to separate rooms tonight." John froze.

Were they… talking about him and Sarah? He shook his head and laid his palm against the side of his face. That was as ridiculous as Five and Nine currently talking. Something felt off. This whole thing did.

"What about it," Nine's voice returned after a beat, not with the disdain John expected but with an inch of curiosity. Possibly relaxation. "You realize that doesn't mean anything, right?"

"It means something isn't working. Look pal, I hate your sexual tension as much as you do since I am the one getting swung at because of it."

"God dammit, it's not sexual tension." Nine's voice sounded tired, but not a physical tired. Mentally, or emotionally, he sounded exhausted. Fed up with hiding whatever it was Five was pushing out of him maybe. Five was good for something with Nine after all.

"Well what is it then?"

"Not sexual tension. They both hate me."

"You're twelve. Trust me, at least one of them doesn't." Beat. "I'll just ask one more question then. Why, Number Nine, is it that whenever you get hurt or bent outta shape the first person you have to see is Number Four?"

So… this was about him. Nine was… Crushing on him? The thought confused him so much he felt like he'd almost got an instant headache. Since when? How? None of it added up, the older Garde almost dropped him off of the second highest building in Chicago and constantly insulted his attachment to his human friends. The last point suddenly made a little more sense now. He remembered the heat of anger dying from Nine's eyes when he'd healed his broken hand and the way Nine had plastered his signature smirk and started cracking jokes after John's baby lecture. The vulnerable side that confronted John after the fight on the roof, the side that finally let him in and showed him how and why Nine did what he did.

Nine's need to always "help" him with girls and people in general and the talk attached to it with a muscular arm swung around his shoulder and a hearty laugh. The disappointment, possible anger, when John chose Six and Sarah over him to find Five. Nine cared for him even after the effects of the Mog technology had long worn off when the two of the struggled from West Virginia to the safe house in Chicago.

Things started to make more sense.

"He's just there all the time, that's it." Nine finally replied. The surprisingly soft tone in his voice gave away everything.

"No, it's because you know I'm right. You just don't want Number Five to be right."

"Ok, fine, whatever. You're right, are you fucking happy?"

"What am I right about, Nine?"

"Don't make me say it." Beat. Then there was a sigh. Another beat. Finally came the sentence that took John's breath away. "Fine. I'm in love with my best friend. And he has no fucking clue."

Crush was a schoolyard word, it didn't have nearly the same impact as a stronger word like "love", even if it was "in love" versus "love" alone. A few nights ago John was saying these words half-heartedly to Sarah Hart in an attempt to save something already broken apart and now here he was, hearing the same delicate but definitive words said of him, by someone else. Someone he'd never expected.

"He can't know."

Just like that, John felt himself sink a little. He wasn't sure why those three words struck him as hard as they did. He… couldn't possible return the feelings so soon. He and Sarah just broke up so certainly it was too fresh? He tried to picture Nine and Sarah both as best he could. He'd risked so much for her, tore apart the military base for her, he risked getting caught in Paradise for her.

But, even on the road back from New Mexico, he found himself telling even the radiant Sarah all about Nine. On the way to find Number Five at Boggy Creek, he had found himself talking and laughing about Number Nine to Six and Sarah. They both didn't really care about Nine, especially Six, but he still told them the stories and stupid tidbits anyway. He never felt threatened that Sarah commented on Nine's shirtless habits… instead, he felt threatened that his friend was shirtless around everyone else.

Was this the reason he and Sarah truly fell apart? It was a mutual break up after all, maybe she saw something he didn't. Something he was just now realizing himself. Henri told him the Loric mated for life but Six said her Cepan said otherwise. Henri had been very attached to the traditions and his people's way of life, after all. Did Henri mean wedded? Was Katarina shameful?

John needed answers he couldn't get. Everything confused him. Would it be ok for two of the last male Loric to care like this about one another? He fell backwards into his bed and lightly pulled on his hair. He then closed his eyes.

"But… love?" Even Five sounded baffled. "I wasn't expecting some kind of mushy confession."

"Look, I have no fuckin' clue what it is."

"Whatever it is, I'm sick of dealing with it. Go talk to John about it or I will." John's eyes snapped open. Tonight? He wasn't ready, it would be a lot of emotion.

Did Five know he was awake?

"Fine fine, quit your nagging. He's probably asleep anyway." After Nine spoke, John could hear the slow thuds as they grew closer to the door. Then came a single hard knock. "Hey Four, you up?"

"Try harder!" Five called from where he was placed in the other room. John grinned as he heard Nine's irritated sigh from the other side of the wood. He knocked a few more times, all growing louder after a time.

"Johnny?" Shit.

Was he ready though? This had to be done. He sat up, slowly slid off of his bed, and finally walked over to the door, the only shield from himself and the life he was trying to hard to hold together, and something that might just change it all.

"What do you want?" John called, acting as though he heard nothing from the conversation. Why did he choose to act, he didn't know. Maybe, by doing it this way, he would get at least some closure.

"We… Fuck me, we have to talk about something." Nine spoke carefully.

"Like what?" John bit back adding any snark or afterthought jokes; Nine had to tell him about the feelings himself after all.

"Just… open the damn door. This is going to take a while."


	13. Lace Underwear

**AN: Another Tumblr prompt I answered for Stohn! If you read this on my blog, you'll probably notice a few differences. That is because I elaborated more on the prompt for the sake of uploading a one shot with more than 700 words to this collection so y'all better like exclusives.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who has been following me or my stories, adding to their favorites, and reviewing! It motivates me to continue!**

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"Are you wearing lace underwear?

John thought the bizarre question and still went ahead with asking it anyway. He could feel his face twinge with the beginnings of a blush. Blushing was a weird feeling for someone that didn't feel heat. The quick, bright color of red in front of the blonde Garde had prompted him when he caught the faintest glimpse of Nine's underwear. His sneaky eyes developed a bad habit of "exploring" the people that would stumble in front of him. Men, women, anyone really. Bodies and colors fascinated John. They almost spoke to him.

After their first meeting, his eyes had dragged across every muscular tissue on Nine's body and glide around his form. It almost left him breathless. Since then, he could snoop with ease before settling on the more intimate areas. At first, checking Nine out even in the quietest ways made him fluster like no person before. Not even the perfect that had been Sarah Hart made him feel this way. The raw moments when he was the angriest at Nine's antics were often because he caught himself staring at the other Garde's perfect ass. What was it that drew him in so completely?

Like right now.

The fabric was just a casual pair of boxers, but John still found his eyes drawn straight downwards. The other Garde was crouched on the floor of his dead Cepan's old lab, bent over a couple of spare metal parts and tools. He had lost his shirt once again. John stopped caring after the third time for obvious reasons. In this position, bent over and flexing his available muscle, any piece of visible clothing would have caught John's eye with ease, not to mention that John could trace every drop of sweat as it trailed down Nine's tan, toned back.

Why was he so fixated on the small pop of color underneath his friend's waistband? How come his eyes keep running so far down Nine's back like this?

Nine set down the tool, an old wrench with metal cracking at the head, on the side of the shallow hole in front of him and turned to face John with an eyebrow raised high. His mouth was agape in a quiet disbelief.

"What the fuck is wrong with you," the other boy growled but his voice hinted at a silent chuckle. It was the first time since the night before, when Nine's hand had been mere seconds of self control before dropping him to his death, that Nine almost laughed in front of him. When Nine quietly knocked on the door frame of his room and apologized as though the fate of their world as they knew it depended on John's forgiveness, things fell apart.

John didn't know if he was trying to tease Nine or just make him generally uncomfortable. He knew he had to speak before the tension broke him. What if it was flirting? He knew that he at least accomplished one of those, that was for sure. The air in the room between them had been incredibly dense until this point and he hated it. He hated feeling like he couldn't breathe in the space between him and his fellow Garde.

He hated the sudden buildup between him and Number Nine. John refused to let himself be pushed out. How could that sincere conversation turn into such a cold frost? John's specialty was fire after all, he wasn't going to allow this to go any farther.

"It's a serious question," John fumbled a response, quickly shrugging his shoulders. "It's distracting. You might as well go naked at this point, clearly clothes are just too much for you."

"You'd like that wouldn't you, Johnny boy," Nine grinned devilishly, standing up and walking towards him. John didn't budge in the slightest, he let everything happen. He wanted Nine to come closer.

He wanted the space between them to shallow up. He practically needed it to vanish.

"I wouldn't like having to comfort you after you got your dick caught on something, though," he replied with a smirk. It took most of his strength not to quiver, to keep the thin grin from faltering.

"But you could always kiss it better for me then," Nine murmured, brushing his fingertips against John's cheek as light as possible. The blonde boy froze at the touch. For the first time since his training with Henri, John Smith could have sworn he felt a brush of warm coming from Nine's calloused hands.

Was this what he wanted? The lingering of Nine's lips against his own with those strong hands buried in his short, blonde hair during the midst of passion? He's fantasized about the sounds of their gruff sighs between each and every wet, needy kiss, about the way his hands wrap desperately around his friend's broad, bare shoulders as though a mere kiss was threatening to break him apart.

Did he want Nine?

"I mean I could also… Just kiss you. You're basically a dick," John retorted quietly, his voice cracking in the slightest. His strength had left him. He did want this. He looked his fellow Garde in the eye, letting the cool, dark colors of Nine lose him for now. John didn't mind being lost in the gaze of the boy in front of him at all. It allowed his mind to crawl, it set him free.

"Still the same, hopeless little boy, eh Four?"

That breath of freedom was out of his grasp once more.

Nine backed away from their almost embrace and turned back to the hole in the floor with a few shakes of his head. He hurried back to his spot next to the busted floor panel but John could see his shoulders fidget with laughter. He listened to the snorts grow louder.

Nine was laughing. John smiled as he let himself hope. Hope was a dangerous thing for a Loric and John Smith could be mad at himself over this crush for a long time. If love taught him anything, it taught him that there wasn't anything wrong with hope but it was meant to be taken with care.

Honestly, he hates how much Nine's hearty laugh soothes him. But if he's laughing, maybe he truly does gets it. Maybe Nine sees their connection too.

"See what I mean about the dick part? Your head is practically shaped like one."

"Fuck you and your stupid side comments, Johnny. Come here, I need your light up hands for a second."


	14. Stuck In Space

AN: Thank you anyone who has reviewed this collection, you are inspiring and keep me writing!  
This story takes place at some point in the Fate of Ten and is based off of the ever so popular "your OTP is forced into sharing a bed" prompt. Enjoy!

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"Can you _please_ stop rolling around so much? You're going to shove me off."

"How about _you_ go ahead, shrink to the size of a cat, and shut up."

"You should have shared a bed with Sam, he's practically half your size."

"I am not touching him. I don't know where those little dweeb hands have been. Poor Six has to live with that those germs-"

"Don't talk about Sam like that."

"Fine fine Mommy dear, fuck," Nine scoffed. John could hear the impatience drip from every syllable. He certainly didn't feel any better either.

Beat.

"Well, Dani on the other ha- ow, fuck, what was that for?!"

"I am not in the mood for you or your shit."

For some stupid reason, they were only allowed to have three of the military cots total. John understood with the amount of wounded soldiers since the last attack on the city but he had a good reason to be bitter. Daniela, naturally, got her own, immediately towing it away to another room to avoid them. Sam took the second one and hurried away with an apologetic smile.

"You got your little nap earlier, now I get my own bed!" Sam knew his cards very well and the right moves to make when it came to playing John.

That had left John to having to share a brittle, metal bedspread with Nine. What he didn't like was the lack of space and how self centered Nine took even his sleeping habits. John doesn't remember when they laid down to sleep but Nine has stretched and smacked him square in the nose at least five times and his legs keeps ending up somewhere far too intimate.

It wasn't that John was complaining about where Nine's touch ended up, it was more so how accidental everything was. When John pulled himself back together with the intention of sleeping, Nine's knee would appear between his legs and all effort was lost. When they both laid, facing the same direction, Nine's breath was heavy against the back of John's neck in a way that only made things far more uncomfortable.

They tried to flip over, laying in the same direction with John facing Nine's back instead but still with little to no avail. A boy could only tuck his legs in so far before worrying how far his toes were allowed to stretch between his friend's calves. Now the two of them faced upwards, staring up at a tile ceiling like it had an all knowing solution to their problem. Why didn't Nine just sleep up there? John was convinced it's entirely to piss him off more than the other Garde already did.

"Johnny, I sure hope that's your leg again and not something else."

"Nine, I'm not even facing you."

"Well I mean, if you're up for that. I know I'm a bit out of practice-"

"Not interested." He was sort of interested. He just happened to know Nine a lot better than that.

"Masturbation just doesn't do an-"

John decided he couldn't take it anymore and sat up. He wound his fist up and smacked Nine's bare arm as hard as he could without pushing the Garde off the bed or breaking a bone. It was tempting but John was actually above fist fighting with his friends. He could deal with healing Nine when he threw his tantrums but he wasn't going to patch himself up for losing his cool after being able to keep himself collected when dealing with the older Garde.

Too bad he might end up with a fight after all. Nine didn't recoil, he twisted around in a flash and snatched John's hand before he could pull it back to the safety of his side of the cot and retreat into his position.

"Cheap shot but ultimately useless," Nine smirked. He knew exactly what to say to get John to react; John wasn't going to be beaten like this. He tries to yank his wrist backwards, pulling himself towards Nine in the process. They faces were mere inches away, close enough that John felt a touch of the dusting that was Nine's breath against his cheekbones. His blue eyes met Nine's exactly as his friend's dark eyes widened slightly. He could have sworn he saw the faintest beginning of red start to form on the other boy's cheeks. John didn't blame him; though he couldn't feel the heat, he could only imagine the cherry color his face must be from being this close.

The blonde Garde tried to escape Nine's grasp once more. He pushed off of the cot with his other hand, shifting his weight so he was sitting up to gain a bit of an advantage. His free hand reached to grab Nine's outstretched arm, trying to dislodge the one that secured itself around John's other wrist but another swift movement from Nine has him brought him downwards, crashing against Nine's chest.

His face lands in the space between Nine's neck and shoulder, flooding him in the smell of salt and sweat. As John attempts to push up and away from Nine's grip, his lips brush the faintest touch against Nine's skin. He freezes at the low growl that follows. He didn't mean for that to happen.

John lets out a sharp breath into the soft skin of Nine's neck. It earns him a short hiss. He gives himself the count to three softly in his head before pulling his weight upwards and out of Nine's tight grasp. His knee hits the thick mattress of the cot but gives him the support he needs to sit up just that bit further. He lets his gaze drop down.

He has Nine underneath him, looking as confused as John felt flustered. He had one leg swung around Nine's hip, with one hand still immobilized by Nine while the other was palmed next to Nine's neck. His grasp was still firm around John's wrist but his other hand found a place on the small of John's back, balled up in the thick fabric of John's shirt. They lock eyes for a moment with the hand of John's back tightening its grip. John opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he is still at a loss. How did this happen? Nine's other hand suddenly lets go of John's wrist and slowly drops back towards him

"What are yo-" John mumbled the beginnings of a quick question out before Nine's grip tightens once again, his floating hand settling on his side. John let out a surprised sound as he was lifted and flipped over onto his back. His eyes fluttered closed as he let out a second grunt when his back hit the stiff mattress and the thin sheet rubbed against his arms.

He cracked open his eyelids and stared. He could feel Nine's weight holding him to the bed, his hands pinning John's wrists above his head with ease. His long black hair hung, clinging to his forehead with sweat while the ends were brushing gently against John's face. His breath came out in short bursts. They hadn't really exercised a lot of work, what could have winded Nine so much?

Unless.

Not only was it unfair for the two tallest Garde to share a tiny mattress, it was far more unfair to John that it had to be with Nine. He's been actively denying his attraction to his friend for weeks now and no avail. He couldn't give Nine anymore of a boost in his self confidence that he already had. This little scrimmage just made everything more complicated. He knew the look in Nine's eye when he was interested in someone else, practically had how the brown colors mix memorized to the angle of his flirty smirk. He showed it off to Six every once and a while, and in the beginning before, to Marina.

Not him. Not that he had a reason to really be upset by it. Even so, it wore deep. He hasn't had an attraction like this to anyone else before, not even Sarah came close to whatever this was.

John couldn't find a word to speak, he just stared up and into Nine's dark eyes. He lost himself there. In the dark, he could only catch a sliver of their brown color but even with that, the emotion that thrived there was unreadable. They were intense, flickering and teasing the feeling that John longed to be able to read.

It happened in an instant. Nine's head dips and presses his lips to John's as fast as he pulls away and releases John. He lays in shock. Nine has to know what he did.

"Fuck," the other boy hisses, crawling off of John. Nine rubs his arm where John's fist originally connected as it has begun to bruise. He stayed upright in the cot but he kept his eyes away from John.

John stayed down on the thin sheeted cot, completely stunned. Confused. He wanted to roll onto his side and ignore whatever it was that just happened but he stayed still on his back. John kept his eyes up at the other Garde, catching the faint outline of his muscular form. He wants to sit up, to return the favor and make it last, more than ever. It feels like it might start taking his might to keep him still against the bed but much of John was still shook.

"Well…you… wanted to do that a few seconds ago, what happened," John murmured, finally once again finding his voice. That earned a snort from Nine. The other boy turned his head but in the darkness John only was able to read his movement by the swish of his hair as it brushed against his back.

"You're the only person who could ever turn me off, Johnny Boy," Nine countered with a quiet sneer.

But he continued to keep his eyes off of John. He acted like it didn't happen, as he appeared to act as though John hadn't heard his voice shake with his insult.

John rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. All of the raw, emotive energy from just before appeared to be gone. He was far too tired to deal with Nine's antics now. If they were ten, they would be wrestling until the other screamed for mercy before being pushed off onto the hard floor. He could picture Henri storming in and scolding the two of them and ordering them to behave. John can almost see the two of them rolling their eyes in unison, he can almost hear younger Nine's whiny comeback over how unfair Cepans were about our games and how Henri has no say in what he can do. John then lets himself create a tall, dark haired man in a suit that he can call Sandor who peeks out from behind his own Cepan's back with a thumbs up and a sly wink.

It just sounded too… Real.

Even if they were still on Lorien, with parents and the potential of living on opposite ends of the planet, John thinks he and Nine would have found their way back to each other no matter what. They fit together too well. Nine's rash arrogance and quick mind was balanced out by his need to organize and over caution. There was a reason they couldn't be held down when they fought together. There was just so much that Nine and John could get away when they were with the other. The two of them seemed to face almost everything together recently, not even Sam has been as present in John's life as of recent.

"You didn't seem that way a couple seconds ago," John retorts to himself. His fuzzy image of a tall man in a suit with a glass of wine was still prominent in his thoughts. Until Nine came out and said it himself, to John it would be obvious why Nine would push everyone out.

When he starts to roll over, all intention of pushing Nine out himself, a tan hand slaps down hard on the cot next to John's chest. He opens his mouth and turns to make another snide comment the exact moment Nine's lips come in for another kiss. Only this time he doesn't pull away at the first contact.

He knots a hand in the front of John's shirt while the other snakes underneath his tense form and grips his lower back. Nine pulls John up off the bed so they're sitting on an equal plain, not once hesitating from his place against John's mouth. John feels himself melt under the soft, moist skin, desperately grabbing at any part of Nine that will hold him upright. His arms are wrapped around him, fingers dragging against the Garde's graze every muscle with a need, clawing to feel more. Nine's tongue caresses John's lips softly but doesn't attempt to move any further, his hands moving to feel John's form all over. One of Nine's hands ventures up and nestles into the short blonde strands of John's hair, tugging just enough to cause a low moan.

When Nine breaks the kiss, it is like an eternity passed. John keeps his eyes closed, listening to the mixed noise of Nine and himself panting. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Nine's chin.

"So… that just turned you off so badly, eh," John exhales, still catching himself. He takes note of where Nine's hands are still on him, how they glided over his skin only seconds ago. His own are arms still tightly embracing the body in front of him, ready to go again.

"Do you ever shut up," Nine counters in a breathless tone.

"Not until I get my answer," John replied, pulling his head up from its resting place to meet Nine's eyes.

"And you're not getting one," Nine grunts, lowering his head. He plants a kiss against John's neck, causing him to let out a quiet gasp. "I don't know what this is."

"Well… I like it so you can keep doing it," John chuckles when Nine backs away with an eyebrow cocked. Tonight there wasn't going to be a lot of talking. Tonight was about the play, the rush that this level of intimacy gave them as their only guide. They were in this together.

Nine sighs.

"Let's just get this over with, I want to hear how well those smart mouth comments sound when you're moaning them."


	15. Shut Up and Kiss Me

**AN: Once again, thank you for t he recent reviews and follows! This one is a combination of two prompts I've been requested of. The first was for a sentence prompt, "shut up and kiss me" which is also the title of this piece, and the second is for a stohn plays the "kissing without touching the other" game/challenge thing. Enjoy!**

* * *

Four started off hating the games. Mental, physical, emotional, he grew sick every kind of game to be played. He didn't have the time to mess around. The world couldn't afford him to mess around.

Now all he could think of was how much of a wreck he's become over the last month.

At first, Four thought this tight feeling in his chest was nothing but hate. He never experienced a disdain like this before. Then, he quickly grew to care. When he suspected something else beyond his quiet admiration happening, he hoped it was quiet disgust. Now, what he loathes is how prevalent his sore little crush became.

After the first two matches, Number Four decided that the thing he hated most of all about games was having to play any kind with Number Nine. Ever since Capture The Flag, the blonde boy couldn't let himself to fall for any of Nine's jabs. Listening to Nine is what got his heart caught in the first place. Nine's words groomed a balance of irritation and affection that left Four shaking for answers. How could he in such short time come to love someone as cruel and aggravating? The tan boy's radiant smirk and his dark eyes were drowned in mysteries that the blonde Garde longed to divulge in. He wanted to know nothing and everything, no matter how cliche it sounded.

He remembered the soft texture of the other Garde's calloused hand pulling him up from off the hard, cement floor. A short, simple act of respect. A handshake that any successful leader deserved for good game. The only part worth remembering to Four was how Nine's skin felt against his own, even if it was the more generic form of contact a person could have with another. Once or twice Nine had thrown his arm around Four's shoulders but not until after he picked apart the blonde's love for everyone on Earth and his need to scold Nine for his bare chest. The times their skin brushed was often ruined by Number Nine's mouth.

Was Four annoyed by any of it? Not really. Humiliated? Maybe a little but only because of what his often shirtless friend said about him in front of the rest of the Garde. In front of his friends. The only remaining Loric in the galaxy.

Embarrassed? Maybe.

Was he possibly... bitter? That felt more like it.

Bitter was a good word for it. He would never have that extra step. Nine gave him just enough attention to fuel his stupid, little affection to what it was. But Four knew that his crush would never become anything more.

This game.

He got far too competitive with the other Garde too quickly but not necessarily without a good reason. If Nine won any of their little charades, he'd hold it far above Four's head like it was his greatest accomplishment. Four wasn't going to let Nine or his feelings win without a good fight at least; he wasn't raised a quitter but he often did become the loser. He stopped paying attention to times he'd crossed his arms and casted snarky glares in Nine's direction and started teaching himself to move forward. The only thing the other boy enjoyed more than embarrassing Four was slaying Mogs and inspecting the collection of their dust that would stain his body from head to toe.

This game was a new one. Four didn't even realize such things like kissing games were serious or that he could ever become the victim of one. Through the halls of middle and high schools around the country he caught wind of kissing games. Truth or dare nights gone both right and wrong when girls and boys were pressured into locking lips with their crushes or their best friends, and, in some cases, worst enemies. Thanks to Henri, Four attended none of these kinds of parties. He just lived them through the voices of whomever he called his friends at the school he was easing into the gossip at.

Nine was thirteen on the inside. It was obvious just by how he held himself. But he certainly knew exactly how to push Four all the same. First, he made a snide comment about himself. His way of building himself above. Second, he implied a challenge and the chance at bragging rights. To finally put Nine in his place.

Finally, he offered Four the chance to kiss him with the enticing little smirk he mastered so well and a wink for good measure. Nine certainly knew how to play Four and Four until now thought he knew Nine just as well.

Where could this sort of game go?

"The rules are simple, Johnny boy. We both go in for the kiss and we can't touch each other. You lay a finger on me and I get to do whatever I want to you," Nine spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world but his body language told Four he was nervous. Nine didn't get nervous, he played every game like he was going to score ten thousand dollars and a shiny new toy. His dark eyes flickered nervously while his usual confident smile shaped into a frown instead. Nine reached and scratched the back of his head. "And well, it goes the same for you except we all know how this is going to end."

"Shut up," Four groans through gritted teeth. "The sooner you kiss me, the better."

"Someone's sure impatient," Nine smirked. Finally, that stupid little smile of his makes an appearance. "I don't blame you though."

"I'm going to puke in your mouth."

"That's a weird way of talking about moaning my name, Four," Nine had unsurprisingly been ready for his jab. His smirk only grew.

"Fuck this," Four hissed suddenly, cutting off Nine before he could make any more smart comments. It was bad enough how accurate he didn't realize he was being with every barb. Four gave him Nine little time to react, pushing forward and pressing his mouth firm to Nine's parted lips.

This is what it felt like, how it felt to kiss Nine desperately and like nothing else in the world could ever matter more than this little game of theirs. His friend's lips were still and chapped but somehow those two things still blended together into something Four never wanted to be without. His hands stay poised at his sides, remembering the rules of the game. He longed to reach out, to grip Nine's taut body and take hold of the kiss further.

Lucky for Four, the only thing that edged out his lust was his need to win.

When the soft skin of Nine's own kiss finally found their ground and moved against his, the blonde boy didn't know how much longer he could last before his hands would need to lash out and feel the smooth ripples of the other body. He felt the tip of Nine's tongue delicately glide over his lips but it moved no further into his mouth. Four suppressed a shudder and as many of those growing urges to grab at Nine and take this to a whole new level as possible.

After all, Nine wasn't interested in the other Garde like that. This was strictly just a sick, taunting game to him; Four wasn't going to be letting Nine into the privacy of his own feelings. He wasn't allowed to do that.

Four clenched his fists hard enough that his nails grazed the inside of his palm, letting his body do most of the work when it came to leaning his lips forward into a hot embrace and balancing his weight physically and emotionally. Since meeting Nine, Four once dreamed of this moment, of the touch of Nine's lips against his own. He longed for the damp feeling against his soft skin of his neck and the many other intimate areas that sucking his neck would lead it. His dreams, however, also involved touching Nine back, not kissing him entirely out of sport.

If he keeps thinking about Nine's skin or the dream of touching Nine's body any longer, he definitely won't last.

Four wanted to slap the sides of his face but a mix of embarrassment and pure bliss willed him out of that side of his mind. He didn't know what kind of tricks Nine could pull but he had to be ready for any sort of plans his friend might have. However, the Garde had to keep his conscious intact while feeling the only thing he can admit to have truly craved since day one with Nine.

The other boy let out a low grunt, pressing his mouth against Four's with added force, causing him to bite back a startled moan. Even in kissing, Number Nine had to be empowered, he had to make his place known. His teeth grazed Four's bottom lip, hoping for a reaction, but Four wasn't someone to back away so easily. Four could always match Nine, a short make out would be no different than a tense sparring match or any of the snarky insults battle they would lash out into.

What Four found odd was how much Nine was putting into this. Biting his lip and growling against the effort of a kiss were all… affectionate things. If his little opponent was trying to psych him out, it might be working.

One more light nip against his bottom lip from Nine sends him over.

He then felt Nine falter against his lips at the same moment he finally lost his own balance.

They both tipped forward, unclear whose hands touched who first but the pair knew that this little game was over. Four didn't break the kiss, but to his surprise, neither had Nine. He kept his lips planted firmly against Four's, practically dissolving the blonde boy under the rough touch of the other boy's hands as they wandered his body. Nine's fingertips trailed underneath the hem of his shirt, pulling down on whatever fabric they could brush against. Four's own arms wrapped tightly around muscle, trying hard to focus more on the kiss than the tingle of Nine's hands now rubbing his bare skin under his clothing. He let out a soft noise against Nine's lips when the same hands suddenly gripped his sides and pushed him backwards.

Four let out grunt as his back hit the floor with Nine on top of him, holding their kiss. His hands roamed every part of Four's chest, his neck, his arms, while Four's own hands desperately grasped at the back of his friend's shirt. Nine's mouth broke the kiss and moved down to Four's neck, nibbling along the sensitive skin. He bit his lip, holding back any noise he wanted to make, and raked a hand through his short blonde hair.

Nine's hand gently rubbed Four's belly, causing him to let go of the moan he was holding in the back of his throat. His hand dropped down and weaved its way into Nine's long hair, holding the other boy's face against his throat.

The hand under Four's shirt suddenly froze.

Nine slowly dragged his lips off of Four's neck and brought his face up to sight level. His breath came out in short pants but his dark eyes never left Four's flushed blue.

"You have no idea… how long I've wanted to do that," Nine murmured. He backed his head away, freeing his hair from Four's grip but still keeping his eye contact. "We both lost."

Nine tried to sit up but Four's hands caught his arms and pulled him back down.

"What's your issue?" Nine's words sounded as though they were meant to disarm him but Four didn't care. Love wasn't an issue, but lust could be. He could see the lust clearly in his friend's eyes as they narrowed.

But those dark colors still never left Four's own.

"You're my problem," Four replied flatly, pulling Nine even closer until their lips met again. "Just shut up and kiss me again."

Nine's famous smirk was the only reply he needed.


	16. Kryptonite

**AN: Another Tumblr prompt request from one friend on Tumblr that became a birthday gift for a friend of mine on Instagram!**  
 **Basically it was a list of types of kisses and the one I got tagged in was 'distracting Kiss - When you are competing, maybe playing video games or something so you press kisses anywhere available; arms, nose, knees, ears, knuckles, temple, just anywhere to distract them.'**  
 **You know where this is going, enjoy!**

* * *

His first thought was they wouldn't get anything done. He needed to be better, to be ready for the inevitable war that they were faced with. All he had managed to master was avoiding the other boy since New Mexico, the rescue mission, and their encounter after a short fight with Five. His second thought was _of course_. But, that was the luck of a Garde after all.

He almost felt heat on his face for the first time since he mastered Lumen when that striking face was anywhere near John's own, when the blonde Garde could feel the delicate softness of his panted breath tickle his cheeks.

This was a game to him, it had to be. They knew of the other, even the others knew of what became of their energy. He knew well enough that the hard tension was slowly dissolving every ounce of self control John had left.

He should have just leaned in after the first time his back slapped to the ground, gotten the simple kiss out of the way so it didn't plague his every blow or block on his sparring partner.

It took John almost four times of being slapped down flat on his back to realize he had to try something else. His method of attack just couldn't work like this, with all of these extra distractions he made for himself; to anyone readily battle trained, they would know that his version of anger and taunting didn't work on his opponent anymore. He didn't want to be mad, he wanted to be thrilled in how much better in combat he had finally gotten.

But sparing with his current hand to hand combat partner always just seemed to end the same. His back and chest throbbed from every time he had been thrown into the hard flooring of the lecture hall and his knuckles had thin dreams of cracked blood running down the back of his hands.

He needed to be better. Fire balls and throwing helicopters with his mind could only work for so long for him.

"Wow, this is still embarrassingly easy," the deep, arrogant voice of Number Nine chuckled. Maybe picking Nine, the boy who practiced jabs and did pull ups for a straight year in harsh conditions, was his first mistake. Then again, Six was helping train with Sarah most of the time, Marina was about his same level but conventionally busy, Eight didn't really spar, Five wasn't readily accessible nor worth the headaches, Sam would die, and Ella didn't care. After personal and actual excuses, Nine was suddenly all he had left.

Not complaining with his interest in the built, self absorbed boy growing every day but… likely with that personality, sparring was going to be kind of irritable at the least.

Not to mention the obvious essence of need in the room.

"Not all of us spend four hours on crunches and pull ups when there's actual shit to do," John snapped back as he pulled himself up from the ground. He let out a heavy breath as he let his body slump forward in a slouched, seated position.

"I am so wounded Johnny boy that my body forgot to bleed," Nine mocked dryly. "Get in position, Pittacus Smith, and let a real Garde show you who is the strongest."

John forced himself not to outwardly cringe at the newest nickname Nine tacked on to him. The little plays on words or senses was Nine's way of coping with every different person he came across. John hates it since he somehow and unfortunately had the biggest collection of annoying stereotypes and stigma he was shoved into.

He crouched into his generic fighting stance he learned with Six and waited. Nine would eat his stupid names when he was choking on the dust on the hard floor below them.

"Smart fighters strike faster. Know your opponent and know what works the best to break them to their feet" Nine spoke, gesturing with his hands as if John didn't understand a word he said.

The blonde boy loathed how Nine spoke down to him, like he knew everything John was supposed to know better.

"Let's try some basic counters before I shove your face in the dirt one more time tonight. I'll rush you and you have figure out a way of how to flip me on my back, got it?"

"Get on with it," John snapped impatiently. The sooner he was out of this room alone with Nine the better. He has been trying to focus for the last two hours they've been drilling each other, all he wanted more than anything was to shut Nine up and leave before he did something he would regret.

"I warned you, Four," Nine sneered and charged. Luckily for John with every little defeat, he felt he had Nine's timing and distance he could sprint measured up. Nine's strength, however, was ironically not his brute power but how fast he thought on his feet; one didn't become a strategist on empty words and beautifully sculpted muscles.

 _Focus._

He just caught Nine's fist as it swung at his head, grunting with the effort. He didn't expect the power behind the punch as it hit, why did Nine feel the need to punch his head off in the first place. John folded his other arm to block a blow to his side by Nine's foot, simultaneously yanking Nine's arm forward. He felt relief that he managed to knock Nine off balance but only for a moment before the tan boy's foot instantly touched back onto the ground to stable him. Nine smirked; John cursed internally, wanting to steer away from a match of pure strength with the boy who trained his body for a straight year out of boredom and tentative release.

It was a little too late for that hope now.

Nine pulled his arm back, forcing John to attempt to hold his weight against the burly Garde as he trying to drag John towards him instead.

"Fuck off," John hissed, grabbing Nine's forearm with his open hand. He pulled as hard as he could muster with both arms, feeling Nine's weight slide the slightest bit forward.

"Bite me," Nine countered with his signature smug grin and the snarky glint in his dark eyes. He had to say that, of course he had to. He was Nine after all, there was no way he didn't realize what some of his snark did to John. His feet dug into the ground and heaved John forward. John only pulled back, ignoring the pain as it formed in his wrist where he was being pulled and in his shoulders. John tried not to panic, struggling to think against the throb in his wrist. Any pinch of hesitation could end up with both of them sprawled out on the floor, bruised up and relying on each other for support.

That... could work.

 _Maybe if I-_

He ignored the swelling feeling at the thought of being draped across Nine's taut form on the ground; defeating Nine would always outweigh any sort of feelings he might have.

John let go.

He gave way entirely, letting his weight fall forward into Nine's pull. He quickly twisted his body so his shoulder faced Nine, giving him enough of an added edge in his attack to wind. The other boy braced against the impact of John's body, causing John to crash hard into Nine's chest and forcing the both of them to fall backwards. John didn't give himself a second to recover, sloppily pulling himself up first before his opponent could. He lunged for one of Nine's exposed arms, tossed aside from the safety of the side of his body, pinning Nine to the ground. He lifted a foot up, pushing the of it down on Nine's thigh. For good measure.

 _Steady, John._

The other boy raised a brow, examining John's pin as best he could from where he was stuck. He kept a lazy grin, like he wanted to be pleased but found something else wrong. Like he wanted to make another one of those snarky comments that John hated so much.

"About damn time, Johnny boy."

"Shut up," John panted, letting himself smile along.

"You know, I've been waiting for this day to co-

"Drop it," John snapped, pulling his eyes from Nine's. This long, they managed to got his long without Nine opening his smart mouth or John letting go of all possible self control and kissing him like the war around them ended.

"How long can you keep me down though?" The moment was lost instantly with another challenge. Of course, John cursed to himself for feeling any remorse about it. He frowned and turned back to where he had his friend pinned, squinting in suspicion down at Nine.

"As long as I want to," he grinned. If he was lucky enough, John could take and dish them.

Nine blinked slowly, then rolled his eyes.

"Just. I'm not going to comment on that one," he sighed. There was a hint of flustered frustration with every second. He wanted the same things, it was obvious to John. But they were practicing and they had other commitments. The two of them together in any union at all could be dangerous. "Two minutes, that's all you got. Then we can finally wrap it up."

"Fine," John closed his eyes and exhaled in a long breath. He tightened his grip on Nine's forearm and kept his foot firmly pressed against Nine's hard muscle. He ignored the tingle from brushing his fingertips against Nine's soft skin.

His eyes snapped open when he heard Nine's open hand drag against the hard flooring of the lecture hall. He tensed, waiting to shoot it down with his opposite hand but it grabbed his shirt instead and pulled his face forward, directly into Nine's. Enough that the tips of their noses lightly touched. John could practically feel the heat on his cheeks, the red dye that the cheeks were taking in as they stared into each other.

"Or we could just be done and get on with it now," Nine breathed.

"Not in your life," John growled. He tightened his grip further, trying to pull back on Nine's death grip locked on the fabric of his garment. "Nice try but I'm not letting you up."

"I thought I had you for a bit there," his friend murmured, a sly smile on the tip of his lips.

John didn't respond, keeping his eyes on Nine from the safe distance he backed his head away to; he was unable to break Nine's grip but at least he can keep himself calm for now.

Nine jerked on the fabric again, pulling John's face in a second time but past his own. John opened his mouth to retort but every syllable died on his tongue as he felt the cold, soft presses of Nine's lips on his neck. He sighed against it instead, feeling himself weaken as Nine kissed the soft spots of his exposed skin.

 _Shit._

He didn't want it to come down to this. He didn't want to be a loser.

But, on the flipside he did have the all powerful Number Nine firmly held beneath him and kissing his skin. He held back a quiet pant, biting on his lip as Nine's lips dragged from his neck up to his ear.

"What, don't like this," the other boy whispered in his ear, lightly biting the delicate skin. John exhaled.

"I didn't say that," he panted, squeezing Nine's arm as an act of steadying himself instead of holding the boy in the dust.

"I beg to differ," Nine laughed softly in his ear. His lips found their way back to John's neck, kissing and biting the side. John closed his eyes again, trying to distract himself from the feeling of Nine holding his body. His foot slipped from it's place on Nine's leg but he brought his knee down onto him instead.

 _I am going to win._

He reuttered the words competition to himself over and over again in his thoughts. Something, anything to keep him afloat. Nine pulled John forward by the shirt once more, kissing his jaw line. He lifted his head up, sighing into the touches.

His knee then slipped next, bringing him forward towards Nine's chest instead of being flipped completely onto his back and left behind. Nine's hand fisted in his shirt kept him up, holding him in place for Nine to continue to kiss his softest spots. Things he didn't know were such weaknesses of his.

That or his ultimate weakness was the boy pressed underneath him.

And that was ok.

Two minutes had to be up by now.

"Fuck this," John finally spat. He pulled up, hard, breaking himself of Nine's grip and sitting up on top of Nine's lap. The other boy cocked an eyebrow, almost as though he was biding his time for John's next move.

He leaned forward, planting a firm kiss on Nine's lips. He left go of Nine's arm, running his hands down Nine's torso instead. The other boy's calloused hands threaded under his shirt and behind his neck, maintaining the heat of the kiss. While it wasn't hot, it was the heat of the moment, the linger of built up tension and denial all released at once.

He was right when it came to Nine, that this forced distance had affected him too.

John pressed, letting go everything once again. He let himself kiss and be kissed, be held close to the most insufferable yet compelling being in his life. Nine growled against his place against John's lips, his teeth grazing John's lips and his tongue teasing every part it could touch. The one hand on the back of his neck slowly moved up, nestling his fingertips into John's blonde hair. The second hand was planted against the sweaty skin of John's back, rubbing delicate circles against his spine. It made him shudder.

John moved his thumbs across Nine's abdomen, ghosting his fingertips along the sides of his built torso. Nine let out a noise, tensing his hand in John's hair.

The two broke apart suddenly, both gasping for breath without leaving the other's tight embrace.

"Your two minutes are up," Nine wheezed. John nodded but he didn't care as much anymore. Right now, all that mattered was who was here with him, feeling and desiring the same things he longed for since the first night months ago.

"So… is that how long you usually last," John replied, letting out a throaty laugh amongst his gulps for air.

"Well. Why don't we find out then,' Nine remarked, pulling John's head back down and into another kiss.


	17. Tomorrow

**AN: The sequel to 'Tonight' that no noe really asked for but got anyway! I've seen a few 'Stohn gets drunk and fucks' stories and I got the prompt request for 'dancing/clubbing' and chose to opt out or a nightclub smut fic and try something else. No offense to anyone who has a fic like that, I just don't want to step on your toes basically. The setting is Homecoming season this time around, enjoy!**

* * *

To Stanley, the year should only just be getting started. As he waited for the light at the intersection to turn green before the familiar long strip of fields of his date's, he didn't know if he felt angry or disappointed. His summer shouldn't be over, his month and a half in Cancun couldn't possibly just be gone and done with. He shouldn't have spent all day up until now in the back of his closet of his school year home, wrinkling and tossing every dress shirt he owned across the room in desperation.

Where was all of his time going off to that today was now his final Paradise High homecoming?

The same question has gripped him with every shirt he pulled abruptly off of each hanger. Who thought rose gold was a good color on him? How was it possible for him to get a neon green dress shirt? Did he really only have twenty bow ties by the same two designers? What happened to the four from the Devektra family People magazine article photo shoots over the summer?

Stanley Worthington should not be worrying about Homecoming this early in the school year. But alas, the first month of his senior semester past by thanks to Stanley busying himself with his new circle of friends, his strict workout routine, the two and a half hour football practices every day after school, his studies -sometimes he studies anyway, he's not a book smart, rich kid, just a rich kid- and of course, his new boyfriend.

"Boyfriend," he murmured aloud to himself with a smile. The word practically tasted good; it took saying the two syllables in a quiet voice to overcome his shock just a tad. It had only been five months but to Stanley, those five months felt like five separate lifetimes they had lived and died through together.

The team won their Homecoming football game last night with ease. Mogadore High School might be their leading rivals but everyone in the entire state knew how weak the school's football program was. Stanley could hold back two guys on the team if he needed to while junior Nigel and Stanley's life long teammate Mark had a the special wide receiver to quarterback only the college and NFL teams ever saw.

He asked John Smith to the dance like most boys would, he had just walked up and implied the two of them going together before spirit week started.

"So we're probably going to meet our friends there. It's homecoming, not a celebrity meet and greet. Even if I'm a celebrity."

"Who... said we're going at all?" Stanley loved when John suspected the worst out of him. It meant he could excite and surprise his boyfriend time and time again.

"I did, just now."

Beat.

"Wanna go with the esteemed Paradise High Defensive Line Captain?"

"Only if you never call yourself that again," Stanley loved John's little laugh after talking back too. He could honestly be in love with this boy but Stanley Worthington was never going to admit that to himself.

That was that. Stanley knew his boyfriend well enough by now. He knew John would have killed him if he did anything too public and informal. John wasn't going to be "a trophy wife" like he so stubbornly loved to call it. Stanley also respected him enough to give him the right kind of spotlight, a private one between the two of them and their friends. It held intimacy, it gave them room to develop their relationship amongst themselves before making it known.

"Sorry I'm a little early, I want to get a good parking spot," Stanley immediately apologized when John cocked an eyebrow and opened the door to the front seat.

"You can buy nice Convertibles in fancy colors but you can't buy a parking spot for a high school dance," John bit back, smirking as he closed the door and buckled.

"I'd rather buy you a nice dinner and cut through the traffic than waste my Benjamins on a shitty high school," Stanley countered back with a sneaky grin of his own. "You seriously need a buckle? What, don't trust me driving, Johnny boy?"

"No, I really don't. You almost clipped a guy speeding to the Reds-Cubs game last summer," John replied dryly,

"So what's one time?"

"What about that one time you were almost late to a football game because you were doing a Wired magazine photoshoot with your Uncle?"

"Well-"

"Or when you offered to drive Sam to his Robotics tournament and he almost puked on the side of the road when you finally parked."

Stanley paused, thinking carefully about how much farther he wanted to dig this hole he now put himself into.

"I'm just going to drive now,"

"Are you actually though?"

"God dammit Johnny, I get it," Stanley snapped playfully. He couldn't hold in his laugh. Even if the words sounded harsh, he knew John didn't mean to hurt him. He always called for John to stand up and fight back and John sure knew how to deliver.

Stanley clicked down one of the buttons on his steering wheel a few times to change the radio to CD.

"Turning off your talk radio? What's wrong, what happened," John asked with genuine worry. Stanley went well out of his way to pick up and take John to school every morning, it's what he did for someone he really cared about. Naturally then John was very used to his during drive habits. Stanley always listened to talk radio in the morning; mainly it was so he didn't have to hear about any of the rumors involving his family and with their fall home being in this city, it was weekly. Two, he loved sports. Baseball in particular; Stanley was ready to beat down anyone who dared call it boring and unoriginal.

"I just really don't want to hear about the World Series upset tonight, I want to enjoy my time with you," Stanley admitted, keeping his eyes on the road for fear the slightest turn to John would uncover his growing blush.

"You want to enjoy your time with me," John repeated his date's words carefully. "Don't you usually?"

"Of course you idiot, I mean like,.. I'm focusing on you tonight, sheesh," Stanley stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other made a turn into the parking lot of the restaurant. "Let's just get dinner and see your friends dry humping each other the dance floor."

That made John laugh, it helped to resolve any brief tension from just moments before.

"The day I see Sam twerk against someone else will live on in history."

Dinner came and went by very fast. Everything just went by fast. Stanley barely remembered ordering the pasta weezy with a side tomato basil as soon as he turned his key in the ignition. The school was another short drive; these coincidences were starting to heavily wear down on Stanley.

He pulled into a parking spot, maybe ten feet from the front entrance, and parked. John shifted in the seat next to him to unlock the door and get out but Stanley reaches over and caught his arm.

"Hey, listen, let's just have some fun tonight, alright," Stanley grinned but he didn't know if he was telling himself those words or aas actually talking to his boyfriend.

John blinked slowly.

"Odd. I said something similar to Sarah before prom last year when the two of us went together," he frowned, keeping his troubled blue eyes on Stanley like there was a secret practically leaking from his pores. John sat back down and turned to Stanley, taking the hand that once rested on his bicep rn into his palm. He gave it a light squeeze. "We're a team, right?"

"Yeah, obviously," Stanley quickly mumbled, trying to find the right words as quick as he could. They'd been outside for two minutes and already he was fucking up.

"That means you'll tell me when something's up, like I'll tell you, yeah?" John spoke like it was the simplest thing in the world. His eyes never left, even as Stanley kept pulling his own gaze to stare at anything else except then incredibly handsome John Smith.

"You're… dammit, you're right," Stanley breathed, closing his eyes. He couldn't think of the words but luckily, John wasn't going anywhere. When he opened his sight up, he found John's concerned stare never left. Like the blonde boy was waiting for even the smallest of sign that would tell him everything he needed to know and how to fix it. If only it was that simple.

"I'm a senior in high school with no plans and the entire world is watching," Stanley said defeatedly. He let his head bow, tearing his eyes from John's. "They want the next big story when really they're getting the next big fai-"

"It's not about them and their paycheck, it's about you, Stanley," John cut him off, grabbing and sharply squeezing his hand. Stanley jumped at the sudden contact and locked eyes with his boyfriend.

"I… just don't want to fuck up."

"And you won't." As soon as Stanley opened his mouth to argue, to throw all of his pent up fears into the air, John closed the gap between them with a long, deep kiss.

Stanley almost couldn't remember the last time, the time before the soft skin of John Smith's lips, where he felt bliss like this. His hands instantly shot up and tangled his fingers into John's short blonde hair. It felt soft and matted, untouched by any kind of product. It was natural. It was John.

That's how John likes himself, he didn't feel the need to suit up more than necessary and did Stanley love it. John never tried to impress him, he just did it. His royal blue collared shirt accented with a smooth black tie brought out the right amount of color from his already deep eyes. John liked ties, he likes the simplistic part of a tie. You folded it into a knot and left it alone for the rest of the night. He didn't like the extra work that went into a bow tie and he wasn't about to go without something to flatten his collar and finish his look.

John did love putting every piece of him into a kiss though. Stanley knew that, he could feel it with the way his palms had pressed against the skin of his face, how his arms wrapped around Stanley tightly like the world around might fall out from underneath him.

He felt a cool breeze when John broke their kiss.

"Let's go inside, yeah," John murmured. His warm breath tickled Stanley's cheeks and nose. He opened his eyes, taking in the light pink color on John's face from their kiss.

"Sounds good to me."

Homecoming, no matter how many times a person could go to one or six, was usually the same general idea. There was a mass of people in the center of the gym floor, trying to move to the music and avoid hitting as many other elbows as humanly possible. There was usually at least two smaller dance circles on the outskirts, full of sophomores and juniors who want to have their big high school moment in front of their peers.

That's where Stanley found himself stuck for his Senior Homecoming. He waved and patted his teammates on the back as they skirted past him with their dates in tow. Honestly, he was kind of glad he was spending this year relaxed. For one, he wasn't out of breath for most of the night.

For two, he didn't feel like he had to be the girl chasing punk anymore. He was here with a group of people who actually cared and laughed with his jokes and a boyfriend Stanley wouldn't dare compromise.

Historically, as all of Paradise High was very aware of from the last three years of Stanley Worthington, he has always been a wild animal. Stanley used to never go to dances with dates, it interfered with his obnoxious record of course. He was this esteemed, eligible bachelor with Varsity honors in every sport he played in and incredibly wealthy parents; at least, every news outlet in the state would want someone to believe that.

The reality? Stanley squeezed his eyes shut. For once in his life, he just had to force himself to move on from the demons.

"I didn't know Naveen could move like that!" A junior shouted in the dance circle nearest to him.

"He's, uh, a special kind of person…" Marina, Naveen's long term girlfriend since middle school, chimed in. Her laughter was uncomfortable but the smile was present in her voice all the same. Even if he could be a bit of an extrovert, Naveen made her very happy.

Stanley turned to look for him, to find what Nav was doing that had everyone so enthralled in him. He found the tall, tan boy in direct center of the dance circle, swaying and twirling in a series of carefully choreographed moves to Nicki Minaj. It was almost like he did this routine behind closed doors of his childhood home. Stanley had to hold in his laughter; he thought about joining him but he'd end up only thrusting and fist bumping in comparison.

Besides, the feeling of a certain someone's soft, damp lips at prom took that dangerous, uncontrollable part out of him after all.

The circle broke apart as the last few seconds of 'Pound The Alarm' was replaced with a beginning chords of the night's first slow song.

Stanley recognized it but he couldn't put a name to the song. He backed away from the circle, giving his friends some room to dance. He knew the tradition. Even if they never dated, John and Sarah always had to have at least one dance together. It was the least he could do.

His first mistake was choosing Marin Elizabeth to stand next to.

"Smith finally upgraded, huh," she asked with a smirk.

"Just like Sarah finally realized what was holding her down all along," he growled his response. He kept his eyes off of her but also kept them off of John and Sarah.

"Truce truce, would you relax, Worthless," Maren snarled back, punching him in the shoulder. He held his frown; against his football toned body, the sting from her fist wasn't as bad as it usually would be. "I don't like it either but I don't have to, I have to respect it."

"You have feelings?" Stanley smirked when she rolled her eyes.

"Oh shut up," she pushed him this time but he heard the smile in her voice. Fun, Stanley remembered. Let go of his fears and uncertainties and just let himself have _fun_. If he couldn't have fun for himself, he could at least have some for John.

"Guys guys, they have an open soda bar, Mountain Dew shots?!" Sam Goode squeaked suddenly. He ran in between Stanley and Maren, swinging his arms around both of them.

"No thanks Sam, I think you've had enough," Maren laughed uncomfortably, sliding Sam's arm off of her shoulder. The entire world knew how he felt about her. But, now that Maren and Sarah finally got together, the fierce, young girl wanted to shut Sam down as nicely as possible.

"My Rockstar is only just kicking in!" Sam whined, pulling his arm off of Stanley as soon as he realized he left it there.

"What? I'm a handsome young man, Sammy. You can dance with me," Stanley winked. Sam backed away, his eyebrow raised.

"I don't date people who are richer than me."

"That's like everyone."

"Bite me, Stan the manbaby," Sam flustered.

"Oh, yeah, like I haven't had that name for so many years," Stanley laughed, slapping Sam on the shoulder for good measure.

As soon as his palm brushed Sam's dress shirt, the next fast song section of the night started. Stanley felt someone bump into him as they past behind him.

The hand that lingered an extra second close to his side gave away the intruder.

"Cody I swear to god if you grind on me, I'm going to turn around," Stanley snapped, turning to face him.

"Wow, suddenly you don't like people humping you from behind. You buckled down?" Cody sneered.

"No, I just really don't like you hustling me from behind," Stanley hissed back, lowering his face to match Cody's. "Now fuck off."

"I don't like that time of voice," Cody smirked.

"I don't like you."

"And I don't like seeing my boyfriend so close to another guy's face," John's voice in his ear caught him off guard.

Stanley didn't have time to respond before John pulled him by the folded collar a few inches back.

"Honestly, you two will be the death of me," he laughed. Stanley forced himself to frown his response but really the sound of John laughing made him feel warm.

"Are you ready to dance with me or not," Stanley replied, pulling on John's dress shirt sleeve. "That's for almost popping my collar, you could have ruined my aesthetic."

John only raised an eyebrow, his smirk not once faltering. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Stanley's nose.

"I know you're not serious but shut up."

"Just dance with me, Johnny boy."

His date didn't argue with that. John draped his arms across Stanley's shoulder while the dark haired boy held him by the hips.

The song playing in the background begin then was upbeat, a recent hip hop hit that Stanley didn't know the name of, but they still swayed to the beat anyway. They kept their eyes focused on each other's, letting the flow of the music move them. It was fascinating, that even here, where the speakers make only the sounds of the modern ages heard, that something so auditory as music could be put into the background when someone mattered so much.

Song after song past before John and Stanley finally both broke apart and started to dance more to the beat. He finds himself lost without the warm, intimate touch of John's blue eyes. Stanley had to hold back his surprise when John's butt brushed against a more tender area. He stopped himself from whipping his head around and locking eyes with any person who was possibly watching; it was time to let go of what everyone else worried about.

He pulled on John's arm and turned him around. His date had the world's biggest smirk on and an eyebrow carefully cocked up.

"What? Too much for the big, bad Stan?"

Stanley didn't respond, just pulled John Smith in close and pressed his lips against his own parted ones. John's arms immediately looped around his neck, bringing himself forward into a far more warm embrace.

Stanley broke their kiss.

"Nah. Just wanted to kiss ya."

"Yeah, sure, your face says something else," John shook his head slowly, keeping his dilated eyes on Stanley.

"Let can talk about that later, actually dance with me this time."

By this time, their friends decided to lump in closer to where the couple had been swaying and shaking before. Marina and Naveen held hands as Naveen pulled her and spun her for all to see. Maren and Sarah just swayed to the music, laughing at Sam as he tried to find his own rhythm while holding a paper cup full of what Stanley could only guess to be Mountain Dew. Ella and Cody were a short distance away, both holding their own cups of soda and quietly talking; after a wave and the first note of the next slower song, Ella grabbed Cody's hand and hauled him into the midst of their friend group.

Stanley recognized it immediately. IT wasn't that it was his favorite, it wasn't that it was the first song he heard in the morning or the last song he played at night when his handsome boyfriend was the last echo in his thoughts. It was a lot sappier than that; it was the song that Stanley had asked John to dance with him to for the first time last Prom.

Judging by the way John's hand squeezed his arm, he had to know too.

They turned into each other again, assuming position once more with his hands on John's hips and John's arm draped across his shoulders. John once again pulled Stanley into him, causing them to drift to the song instead of sway and smile. It was more intimate, it was closer, and it was calm. Collected. Stanley could tell where this dance was going, he could feel where at least part of his his future was going.

This moment was perfect.

The world could watch, Stanley realized. So long as he had John Smith by his side, with his head against his chest and his arms around any part of his body, Stanley could learn to care a lot less about what everyone was expecting out of him.


	18. Chilled

**AN: Another part after a while! This one's more angst ridden than most of the other parts and the ending dialogue was my prompt for the piece, aha.**

 **I do want to comment on a review I got however, about how a reviewer mentioned they had a hard time depicting Nine as homosexual. Not gonna lie, it rubbed me a little weird and to that I have to respond that, pan and bisexuality do exist. Headcanons also exist but that's not as necessary to point out. I'm a bisexual female. I personally head canon Nine as pansexual and John as bisexual, etc. Sexuality is pretty fluid and just because someone is clearly attracted to one gender, it doesn't mean they are specifically drawn to that singular gender since the source content never blatantly said.**

 **Just my two cents, thank you everyone for reading and everyone else who has responded and reviewed, I really appreciate it!**

* * *

John Smith hated how much his mind traveled. He hated where it traveled to, how it snaked and twisted from his sweetest moments to the darkest, damnedest times of his short life on this planet.

From the serenity of Sarah's soft skin back in Paradise to their tearful goodbye knowing they'll never see each other in that intimate, blissful way again once he left. From being knocked flat on his back to holding Six close before she took off to fend for Europe, desperately kissing her lips like he might be the reason she could end up dead on the other side of the world.

To the choking smog from the Mogadorian ruins that flooded his lungs as Number Nine stepped out of his holding cell for the first time in years. When he took Nine's hand for the first time, scaling the walls of the West Virginia cave with a borrowed legacy.

When Nine cared for him after he collided with the Mogadorian force field. When Nine made small talk and irresistible smirks to the girls on the train in Chicago that he thought only enticed those he wanted it to.

Their fight on the roof, the apology after in the safe confines of Sandor's apartment when Nine opened up to him for the first time.

When John first realized he started to bitterly miss Number Nine after leaving with Six to retrieve Number Five, when Sam began to try and distract him from his feelings as soon as he returned.

His real feelings.

He can even remember a time when the war felt secondary because, in an ironic twist, Nine had started to come first.

 _He was still first._

 _He's always going to be first. But now, things will have to be different._

Number Nine stood across from where John drooped with that pure, handsome smirk ghosted on his lips. His hair was down for once, pooling down his shoulders and framing his angled face and sculpted muscle. Next to him, for the first time since they met, was Number Six. Her long, wavy blonde-dyed hair was shaking with her snarky remark as her arms were crossed against her chest and she raised a fist and collided it with the tan arm next to her.

 _It's just a fling_ , everyone had said early on.

 _They hate each other_ , John still kept telling himself.

Eight and Marina didn't say anything specific nor negative, they smiled and laughed along with the pair. The two of them put everyone else's happiness above any remorse they might have withheld, or they were approving of it the whole time.

 _It's different now_ , Marina had said absently, looking off and losing herself in romance that didn't matter. She was admiring the development. From haters to lovers, with so much of a change that anyone would envy the amount of energy they spared to make things work.

But was it a romance? There was no proof.

 _Good for Nine, he needs someone like Six_ , Eight had added with his signature, gentle grin on his face.

Ella was quiet at the start but grew to accept that her playground crush on Nine had long since faded away.

 _I think they're really good together_ , she praised. Ella had gone as far to nudge Nine in the arm and give him her infamous silent, all-knowing smirk. Ella got over it.

He didn't.

It's not romance. He knew Nine. He knew _Six._

Five didn't seem to care. He kept his distance, his arms snug tight against his chest and his frown as present as it always was.

But despite it all, Five had shocked John the most. When standing to leave, he pressed a hand on his only friend's heartbroken shoulder, squeezing it quietly, and walking away from the group entirely.

Only John had noticed. He had lightly brushed the spot on his arm that Five touched seconds before. It was one of the few times he smiled since.

Sam took it badly. The rest of the group would continue to say that Sam Goode took the new relationship the worst of them all. The human boy had kept his smiles tight for the week of speculation but his eyes began to give him away entirely. The warm brown lost its luster and the punch lines for every one of his little jokes seemed to grow emptier with every day.

Not a relationship.

He said he felt led on but he wants to respect Six. With a painful smile and the sad gleam in his eye. What a joke. He started to vent anyway.

What about their embrace in the forest when the two of them embraced? The connection they had before Six left for Europe? What about all of the brushes and stolen glances they shared since reuniting?

How could he possibly compete?

If only Sam knew. If only he knew that someone else shared that cold, sultry feeling of a knife twisting in chest with every fake smile and broken laugh.

John couldn't help how it felt, there was nothing he could do except hope these feelings too would pass. At least he was good at hiding the way he broke apart inside. Sam and Marina didn't know what it was directly but they knew something was different. Ella has her suspicions but she shows her interest with a raised eyebrow and a closed stare; she didn't try to ask.

Six didn't know. Eight couldn't possibly either.

Only Five really noticed. Only Five somehow knew. Five must have known as soon as he had lingered in the hall outside of Sandor's lab, where John had lectured Nine about his behavior but also treated his broken hand with tenderness that was almost intimate.

Nine never noticed. He probably never would.

Their eyes met briefly but John broke the quiet connection as fast as he could. He wasn't going to get lost in those eyes, not anymore.

It was harder than that.

"You awake over there, John," Six called to him. He bit his lip as hard as he could. Don't look at him. "We'll need you on your feet in a bit."

"I'm just nauseous," he murmured. He always claimed to be sick or tired when he got caught up in his feelings in front of everyone.

"You should take this cold seriously, John, maybe Sandor has something here that we could try finding answers in," Eight added. John forced himself to look at Eight; the warm, green eyes glowed with genuine concern.

He could taste the bitter, regretful air he breathed in.

"Maybe later."

"I think we're all just exhausted," Five's voice suddenly joined in once more. John's eyes shifted to where Five stood in the hallway frame, leaning on one side with his arms crossed against his chest. Five acknowledged John with a quick, curt shrug.

"Too much time together, not enough taking care of ourselves."

The second sentence bothered John.

"You sleep twenty hours a day, Baggins, I think you're perfectly fine with being a useless hermit," Nine replied dryly before Eight could comment. Six lightly slapped Nine's bare arm. Marina and Eight exchanged a quick look.

"And you're completely full of shit," Five snapped in response, tearing away from the wall and walking to the other side of the room.

"Oh, good one coming from the kid who put the target on our backs in the field."

"Really? You're a fucking mess. You keep dragging everyone back into your pathetic shitty life," Five snarled. His dark eyes gleamed with a mix of feelings. John could hear the hint of defense in Five's tone as he continued to yell. It was a nice gesture but very unwelcome. He didn't need help for handling Number Nine. "There's more than just you in this little game, shit face. You're just fucking with-"

"Five, that's enough," John jumped to his feet and cut him off. Nine and Five both snapped to glare at him. Let them take it out on him, it didn't bother him the way it bothered the other two. At least Nine could feel something towards him.

Five let out a sharp breath and pinches the skin between his eyes, squeezing them shut with defeat. Nine wasn't so easily baffled. His eyes glowed with his usual scoff.

"Let him dig his own grave, he's not welcome anyway."

"Back off, Nine."

"Oh, so we're defending shit now-"

"I am not in the mood to deal with you," John snapped, cutting him off. He lowered his gaze to his feet, trying to let himself breathe. He couldn't bring his eyes to meet Nine's any longer.

"Are you ever? You don't even look at any of us anymore."

He wasn't wrong. John held his tongue and kept his head low. He could hear Five breathing near him.

"You're the pathetic one, the absolute mess we all know and tolerate Number Four, not me."

The harsh sound of the number cut into him harder than the weak insult did. Nine barely called him John anymore; he missed the Johnnys, he missed the closeness.

John turned his back on the other Garde and let his feet carry him out of the room, down the dark hall of the Hancock center town home. He couldn't be near them right now; he couldn't be near Nine.

He paced faster, dodging the side tables and sharp corners until he was sure he was far out of sight and mind. The lecture hall's crisp air dampened against his skin, his breath a delicate puff of white in the dim light. How could the temperature be so different from one spot in the house to another? He went from feeling nothing to a quiet shudder in the frosty air. The foggy pockets of clouds that escaped through his pants reminded him that he could still be cold both inside and out but never truthfully feel warm again.

Maybe his legacy was a sign. A little grim dark for anyone's taste but not entirely dishonest. His track record was already very poor from Sarah to Nine.

Nine wasn't even on that list.

It was odd; the two of them were never together, they'd never considered it, but the heartache was strong enough that it drove John out entirely. It felt like there was something, or that the dull connection was meant to be more than dagger-like eye contact and bristled arguments.

More than John's fingers ghosting the swollen bones in Nine's hand while trying to keep all of the honey out of his voice when he calmed the rash Garde after his first physical fight with Five.

He detected the sudden sound of footsteps too late for John to tuck away and hide from whoever chased after him. By the time he realized someone had tailed him, he wheeled around to see Number Nine's bulky frame in the dusk lighting. His eyes were heavy, a mixture of a hostility and confusion in the dark tones of the irises.

"You can't hide yourself as well as you can your baggage, Four."

John held his tongue yet again, refusing to take any of Nine's bait. His guard wasn't lost just yet, not just because Nine followed after him and demanded answers.

"I thought we knew each other pretty well by now," Nine continued on, taking a careful step into the lecture hall towards John. The blonde boy let his eye drop to Nine's feet, watching his slow and careful steps with an edge. If he had to dash out of the way of something, he knew to watch how Nine's feet grazed the floor for the kind of rhythm he would lead into.

He slowly started to back away when Nine felt too close. He wasn't ready.

"Apparently not," John replied heavily. He brought his eyes up, suppressing his flinch when he noticed how close Nine had actually gotten. How far they had moved from the middle to near the back wall of the lecture hall. The other Garde was mere a matter of two or three steps away, with the vivid aggressive from moments earlier forgotten in his eyes. His stare was tense but with care precision, like he was trying to take every detail of John to mind and analyze him.

"But apparently so," Nine countered, moving another step closer. John swallowed hard, holding his ground. Nine would never make him submit; he would never back or bow down to Number Nine. "Drop the act. We both know that you're stupidly emotionally, John. Your eyes are a dead giveaway."

John hated how much hearing his name on Nine's lips pinched his heart. He could feel his gaze falter, lowering his eyes to focus anywhere else but Nine's own.

"No idea what you're talking about," John murmured against himself, so quiet that he was sure Nine could have missed it if he was any further away. But with every sentence, Nine had managed to climb those few paces closer; he could practically feel Nine's breath on his skin.

"Cut it out," Nine snapped in a low voice, grabbing the fabric of John's shirt and pushing him backwards into the wall. John coughed as he tried to hold back his initial gasp, gritting his teeth and staring up at Nine. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"How about you? I'm not yours, put me down," John hissed, curling his fingers around Nine's wrist and trying to loosen the hold on him but with no avail.

"You're always my fucking problem, John."

"Likely story."

Their eyes met briefly in the midst of the beginning of the spat and John could have sworn he saw a refraction of hurt.

"Maybe it would be if you gave a shit about someone else for once in your life," Nine sneered, pushing against John to get in his face. He closed his eyes when the hot air of the other boy's next retort hit his cheeks. "You throw yourself a little pity party and tell everyone in your life to fuck off when something goes wrong but we all see it. We're not fucking blind, we know something's wrong with you."

"Yeah, well maybe one of you is something wrong with me, did you think about that," John put a hand on Nine's face and shoved it backwards as hard as he could, knocking him off balance enough to free himself from the tight grip of Nine's hand and push the Garde. "Or maybe even the someone who is shoving themselves into my life."

"So the truth finally comes out, oh tell me, do honest people like me make you all sad and lonely, Johnny boy?" Nine caught his footing and came right back at him, securing one of John's hands and pinning it above his head against the wall once more.

The second hand caught John's fist as he tried to swing it at Nine's head.

"What, you don't like it when other people have distractions and you're down one human girlfriend?"

"Shut up," John spat, meeting Nine's eyes with a cold glare.

"There's so much more than just you and whatever legacy you think you have, Four-"

"Enough!"

He didn't see it.

He claimed nothing was hidden but Number Nine didn't really see anything that went on in John's eyes.

 _How._

John's short outburst only fueled Nine further.

"Yeah, enough, enough of your shit, kid. Not everything can go whatever way you want it to just because you think you're special, ok? Get that through your fucking head. You're the one who sent the pretty cheerleader away, you're the one who said you were fine-"

"That's not-" John choked, trying to get a word out before Nine could push more falsity on him.

"Not what, John? Huh? I think it's pretty fucking obvious how selfish and hypocritical you are. Your pals are hurting and all you can think about is the little girl you left at home and cried over. What about our Cepans? Our fight, huh? What about everyone upstairs? Sam? Six? What about me and my fucking shit? Am I expendable so you can have your little happy ending?"

The questions came fast and John didn't have any answers. His thoughts were a fog that spun over and over. It wasn't that his mind stopped thinking or that he had nothing entirely, it was that he couldn't bring himself to say it.

To say the words that have been dying to come out.

 _You are important._

 _You are._

 _I._

"That's what I fucking thought," Nine snarled, dropping John and taking a few steps back. "When you're done acting like Five, you can come back and join us like the civil piece of shit you think you are."

 _You._

Nine turned sharply and started to leave.

 _No._

Everything he wanted to say was jumbled inside of his head, aching and tearing at every part of him. Maybe, because Nine was important, John couldn't speak. He could barely breath, his pants coming out short and desperate. Right now, in their current place, with everyone else upstairs, Nine was ok. He was stable, he was growing. With them, Nine was outlasting his demons.

He didn't need him.

He didn't need to know what John thought of him.

That much was clear.

John let him walk. And every step hurt so much more than the prior.

"You know," John whispered to himself when Nine's back started to fade away in the dark hallway of the other side of the lecture hall, "nothing can compare to the pain I felt when I saw you fall in love with her."

Nine stopped moving.

"But it hurt when I realized that you're not in love with me."

Beat.

Nine's head turned slowly, almost as though he was going to respond, but his shape moved and disappeared in the darkness.

 _He heard me._

 _But what does he think of me now that he knows._


	19. Next Time

AN: Hey guys, another Stohn one shot AU here! This one is based on the 'two miserable people meet at a wedding prompt' from my Tumblr. This one's a little different; it's a post UAO style story but everyone's alive including the Cepans and the side characters from the Novellas. Enjoy!

* * *

In the warm lights stood the couple of honor. It was Lorien's first wedding since the invasion, since the massacre.

Since the Garde children finally came home.

The surprising amount of Loric that survived hid out on the ruins of an abandoned planet, completely forgotten for the lone ship carrying Lorien's future.

Devektra had fought and she had survived. Now, after so many years, she could complete her union to the man that reignited the hope for her people in her.

She was beautiful in her white folds of a dress, with her platinum hair halfway pinned in a delicate bun on the back of her head. She sway, leaning her head on the shoulder of her newly named husband as they danced to their slow song. It wasn't one of her own songs, that had surprised everyone in attendance. No, the team chose a song from an old artist from two hundred years prior, before lights and technicians shaped the way the people of Lorien listened to music.

The wedding itself was human inspired, from the tuxedos and wedding gowns to the way the banquet and celebratory dance was held. She liked it that way; he wanted it that way. He had relished in the lifestyle of the rich human people; he spoke of his tower suite, his collection of clothing.

He had told her the truth, of how he tried to forget her. How he imagined her body in the rubble of their prized cities, how there was no chance he would survive his fight on Earth. His alcohol abuse.

She forgave him. She was, after all, a star herself.

They were finally reunited after the war, after the children had revived the planet with the slaying of Setrakus Ra. The cities were still in construction and the leadership was still in ruins. But even in the smolder of a once great civilization, there had to be some spark of joy.

They were happy. Smitten. Together.

It was Devektra and Sandor. In union at last.

Stanley wanted to vomit. He wasn't one for sappy, he wasn't one for anything remotely romantic or sugar coated. His life had been brittle, proven by the endless scars across his skin. He'd fought wars from a young age, cracked every pore on his skin, and came out victorious every time.

He lost his innocence at a young age when he watched Sandor, the man of honor, be tortured for any scrap of information he had left.

He wasn't in the mindset for a wedding. He wasn't in the mood for something so cliche and sweet when their world had to soon be rebuilt.

There was so much work to be done.

"Is this seat taken," a bored voice asked him as the rest of the bridal party made its way to the dance floor. Stanley turned his gaze from his self pitying stare to meet blue eyes and blonde hair.

Number Four. Or, as he preferred recently, John Smith.

Stanley almost mistook him for his grandfather, the elder who sacrificed his life to defeat Setrakus Ra and prevent the human world's ultimate demise. To save the new world elders from certain death.

John looked as done and dreary as Stanley felt. He ached at the little wonder of why. Heroism was in his blood, fame was in his features. He was tall and handsome, with the way his blonde hair curled with sweat around his forehead and how his blue eyes lit and flashed with every little feeling his mustered. He had the charm and look that brought in human girls for miles; he clearly never noticed the few boys that were also lost.

Stanley was one of those. He found John Smith incredibly handsome.

Stanley found him so much more than something to lose your eyes in. After Maddy, it was hard.

After someone fell for John, he wasn't so sure they could recover. He hasn't reached that plateau yet. Right now, he was the quiet admirer. He liked his features, he liked the way John had taken the war by force. How he wasn't scared to feel. He liked what he knew about John Smith, the calm and ambitious Garde with legacies that harnessed the power of fire.

But all he knew was myths. The Cepan never let the other Garde get too close to the others, the children found ways around the Cepan rules.

Stanley never let himself meet John Smith completely. They knew each other's numbers. They knew of the other's skill, fought alongside each other. Stanley kept his numerical bonds with Eight and Ten the limits of his friendships; John had done with same with Five while keeping his family's friendship with Six alive. Stanley wondered if John thought the same as him, that he didn't dare risk having anymore friends. Friends could die.

Lovers could die.

"I don't care, take it."

"It's just nice to see someone else hate happiness too," Four remarked as he took the seat.

"I don't hate happiness ," Stanley hissed quietly. John chuckled, keeping his tired eyes on the dancers. "I just hate weddings. And love. And romance."

"Because you can't get any?"

Stanley glared at John. He was lippy. This was a first. Not a lot of people talked back to him.

"Because that's my Cepan out there. I'm only here because it's for him. I also just… hate flowers." Anything to end this conversation.

"Wow. Flowers are Number Nine's only weakness. Explains a lot," John commented, finally turning his attention on Stanley. His eyes were laughing. So much for quiet.

"Fuck you, Four," he growled to himself, looking back to Sandor. His Cepan was twirling like nothing else mattered, Devektra laughing along with his stunt. Sandor was the shy nerd back in Lorien's golden days, now here he was showing off his stunts for the remainder of their people.

"Some people want to," he replied, almost like he practiced the response.

"Then go find someone who would."

Beat.

"It's not the same," John shrugged. Stanley stole a glance at him. His face once again bared a tired feeling. Maybe even a little defeated. He looked older than he was, seventeen years and counting. He risked edging a thousand with his ripe heritage but even now, he looked dated.

"Because they're not human?" He knew the risk of asking that but he still persisted. He didn't know John and John didn't know him. They knew of each other. Asking the pointed questions he'd only heard whispers of from the others was the only way he could get to know him.

"You're one to talk," John countered, meeting his eye with a narrowed expression. He was guarded now. He also proved that he knew more than he let on too. "I mean, it's not the same to be around someone who doesn't feel the same."

"We'll all a little battered, so what," Stanley remarked.

John let out a soft sigh.

"I wasn't sure I was going to like you," John murmured and turned his eyes off of Stanley back onto the floor. Many of the other wedding goers had run out into the music, pulling their friends or partners in tow. Stanley

His quiet answer took Stanley back. The older boy took a breath.

"What does that mean?"

"You know," John mumbled again. "I've heard of you. I've seen you and what our fight for life did to you… as it had to me. You get it so I came over to talk to you because if anyone understood what it feels like, you would, Stanley. I wasn't sure you'd actually be… worth talking to. We're both guarded, protective of ourselves. "

The last word would have stung if Stanley did not, in fact, understand the horrors. Even if it wasn't the same, where John was forced to leave behind many people he cared for while Stanley watched the girl he cared for give her life for him, it was a pain no little ten seconds of someone else's glorified happiness could try to fix.

"How did it feel," John asked suddenly.

"To what?"

"To have someone to love you back."

Oh.

"Well…" he started slowly. After months of her death, months of fighting, of blood, he felt the words easily fall from his mouth. John would understand, he was certain. "When it happens… it's the best feeling in the world," Stanley would have never let the soft smile cross his face if he hadn't let himself heal that little bit. The smile lasts a mere second as soon as he remembers. He remembers holding her body, being told to flee. The smoke had gagged him, the explosions threatened to deafen him. He remembers the week of nightmares that followed; he remembers ripping the head off of the next Mog to cross his path without remorse.

Sandor had been his grief counselor for the next two years they had waited to reunite with the Garde and their Cepans. Eight became his closest friend shortly after that but his intimate relationship with Marina, Number Seven, made it hard to rely on him. He slowly realized he couldn't try and rely on anyone else; Sandor had been seriously injured while Eight still bears the scars of the knife that almost carved his heart out.

Stanley's own scar had been emotional.

"A lot of Loric thought I was going to being Sarah with me," John grinned to himself. "What's so wrong with a boy and a girl being friends? I liked her once but… she didn't like me that way. We respected each other, cared for each other. I can't fault her for that and I can't fault myself for being disappointed by that either."

Rumors. The human relationships, the human distractions, all rumors made by the other Garde or loric. John Smith hadn't experienced mutual love.

"People died for us, Nine," John murmured, closing his eyes. He called him Nine, just Nine. No one did anymore. He preferred it but in respect for the humans, the other Garde voted against him to keep their human names. "I'm not more ready than you are."

"I'm not asking for someone-"

"I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just telling you that you're not alone."

Stanley looked down at his hands.

"Our scars are similar, but they aren't the same. You can't compare your crush-"

"Compare? You're so stupid," John cut him off. "Want to see my scars? They're pretty ugly. Or hear the names of everyone I left behind? We can compare if you want, it won't change that we both bare them."

Stanley turned back to John as the blonde raised a hand to his throat, running his fingertips along the hollow of his neck. He caught sight of the thin purple line that ran across it and felt his stomach clench. His blue eyes fogged slightly and his lips are pursed together in a deep frown.

He didn't like the look on his friend. His new friend. Because someone found him and sat with him but didn't want to lecture him about what he should do next. Someone who saw his scars and just wanted to remind him that there are other people who are broken that could use his experience.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, it's brought us here."

Stanley blinked and felt the smile ghost his lips.

He thinks, sitting next to the open and similarly scarred by their past, that he could be ready to move on soon. He liked John enough to start something small. Friendship, someone besides Eight to unload all of his angst onto. Someone who opened up to him first.

Stanley was ready to take a risk.

"Actually… do you want to get out of here for a while? I think we could use some air."

John smiled softly.

"Actually, I'd love that."

Beat. It was the bouquet toss; several female members of the bridal party and wedding goers stormed the dance floor as Devektra took the stage and used her legacies to add sparkle and light to the flashing. She turned her back, flourishing the folds of her dress in a circle around her as she spun and posed with the flowers.

"Now's a good time to flee," Stanley said, standing up and offering his hand to John. John raised a curious brow before smiling and taking it. His skin was warm and far softer than he thought. He expected calluses and ruin permanently cracked into his palms but they were kind. He kept the hold on his hand as they walked towards the exit, pulling John along as the crowd's energy grew incohesive.

John chuckled to himself.

"I thought about catching the bouquet to scare you."

Stanley rolled his eyes but he kept his grin.

"Thanks for thinking about me, dick."


	20. Find Us

**AN: Another Tumblr prompt but for both Navrina and Stohn to have a scavenger hunt contest. It's an Everyone Survived AU format because I'm weak.**

* * *

"This city is too big."

"That's just because you're still too used to being alone in nature."

"Forests have cute animals, beautiful trees, and actual peace. I don't remember nature having such crappy taxi service."

"Cities have your favorite thing in the whole wide world though. And me."

She pulls the laugh from his chest with those few lines. She's good at it, good at knowing every part of him and what makes him feel the warmest.

"I make one joke about pizza two years ago and no one can let it go. This is my life now." They both shared the next laugh.

Side by side, Eight and Marina had stopped to take a break in one of the best lunch ins downtown Chicago had to offer. They decided to split a vegetarian noodle dish in a small restaurant away from the under of a July afternoon's heat, praying to be ahead of schedule. Food vendors and trucks line the streets but the sunlight, even for two hours they were out, had been too much. The rules of their little but extremely competitive game were simple enough; find the items. A scavenger hunt around the Chicago area. The pair had to find a monument, a cafe, a hot dog vendor, one of Chicago's biggest attractions, and finally, the part of 'us' that makes them happiest. Photos and souvenirs are both acceptable, just carry the proof.

Sam and Ella had worked on their short list but Eight was sure that devious Ella did most of the brainstorming on all sides. The humans, Fleur and Daniela, chimed in with the last idea. A scavenger hunt of places or photos was too simple, especially since it was a competition. They needed to find something they couldn't just take a picture of, something they had to prove about themselves.

Their personal list was crafted like it was meant to be a relationship hunt; their competitors, Eight could only imagine, must have a harder one. Or, even better, the same.

"It only took us two years to find a way to that would make those two have to work together on something instead of insulting or one upping each other's ideas for enjoyment," Eight grinned.

Marina shook her head, taking another bite of their lunch.

"Give them the apocalypse and they're an impossible team to beat. Make them play Mario Kart with some of our friends and it's like we've divorced the family," she grinned at him. "I'm amazed they agreed to even take part in this little game, and against us at that. We're actually unbeatable." She adds the last line with a smug grins and a wink.

"Talk about stressful," Eight agrees, smiling in response to her. He knew it was a game and he knew why they decided to design it into a competition. But still, the fact that it took a game to push the pair of them to do something relaxed and open with each other appealed him. He could remember the long night conversations he shared with his friend. He can remember the kiss of the wind on the cool Chicago night as they lamented for hours about their deepest, truest feelings.

Eight knew he loved Marina with his entirety. He has since the war finished, since the Garde teamed together to defeat Setrakus Ra once and for all. Since the two had taken their time to see the world together and develop where they left off in Florida.

Eight remembers knowing merely by the soft smile on his usually snarky friend's face and by the quiet light that touched his dark brown eyes at the mention of the name that thrived in his thoughts.

Number Nine was in love and he himself did not even realize it.

Maybe that's why Nigel and Six helped Ella set up the other list. Ella might know Nine, but Six knew his companion far more. Nigel was moral support, perhaps someone to bounce ideas off of since he and Nine proved in recency to be very alike.

Plus, Eight liked to joke that Ella thought Nigel's bi instincts could cover the rest of the other two's insufferable cluelessness.

"Oh well, we'll just have to show them how it's done. Let's see what we've got so far," Eight clears his mind of the competitors and shifts in his spot. He takes the list from where it was tucked under the plate near Marina's hands to see what they scratched off. The two of them had taken their first couple selfie picture ever near Cloud Gate, or whatever the giant bean in the park was called. He surprised Marina with his excellent front camera skills and even kissed her cheek when he snapped it. Her smile was beautiful in the picture like always, her laughter so contagious that his smile still hasn't faltered from hearing it an hour ago.

The war threatened to break her. His accident almost changed her. But Marina had the will to survive anything, the edge and the knowledge to use her pain to become something even the ultimate evils of the galaxies like Ra flinched at.

Marina had balance and Eight felt completely lucky to see her at every moment, even when they were running around the city to outpace the other potential couple.

The second item on the list made Eight laugh the most and Marina roll her eyes. The hot dog vendor had been close by the Bean so they agreed to get another picture quick before the line got busy for lunch hour in the middle of the city. Marina wanted to go up to ask if it were ok for her to act like she was ordering so Eight could take the photo but Eight had other plans. He told her that he would order something, a surprise.

A picture was good and his action shot of him leaned over with his hand propped under his chin like a flirt was better, but he had a mission to complete with the hunt the moment he laid eyes on that little request.

He finally bought her the hot dog she originally wanted on their first date. He didn't care what she or the others said, that day they snuck out into the city was the day their relationship started.

The day he realized that the world around him didn't deserve someone as elegant and wise as Marina.

Marina had taken a few bites of the dog between her flustering laughter before deeming she didn't like eating in front of him so close to lunch. Especially since it was meat. They made fun of the idea of vegan hot dogs together.

She remembered every detail. He adored every moment.

Now, they were at a small cafe. He took a picture of her sitting in front of their lunch, giving him that single brow raised smirk look like she couldn't believe he was still taking pictures of her. He found it cute. He was going to keep every moment of this day with him forever.

Marina was now studying a map of Chicago, her hair curled down and around the sides of her face and neck. She always managed to find a way to take his breath away. The thoughtful look on hurt face, in her eyes, was beautiful. She wanted every task to be perfect, unique, and completely them; Eight just considered himself lucky for even being allowed to sit here with her.

"The aquarium sounds fun, I wish we had animal telepathy though," Marina murmurs with a smile. "I wonder what the otters think and gossip about."

"We can always make it up as we go," Eight suggests with his usual grin. She raised a brow, her own growing the longer she held his stare.

"I'd like that more actually."

"What are we waiting for then? Let's get moving!"

How perfectly they fit together, he realized as they stood up to leave for the next stop. How Eight could say anything in the world and Marina would respond with her smile and complete understanding of his person. How he, Number Eight, had the purest fortune in the world to be able to fall in with her, Number Seven, of all the ten who lived. Like they were meant to find and stand with each other forever.

He knew that what he loved most of all about them was Marina of the Sea found Naveen Joseph amongst the land and together, they had found the stars.

They came so far together and neither of them would dare stop before the end of their time together.

First, it began in the cave he spent those many miserable years alone after Reynolds. Then, it quickly grew into something small as they teleported and transferred locations, eager to unite with the other Garde in the States.

Marina saved him. He'd been struck in the Mogadorian base while fighting alongside Nine and Four but Marina had wanted nothing to do with the death prophecy that hung over his head and ticked in the back of his ear like a clock for years.

He almost died in Florida. Five had struck him on accident when he turned on their group with all intention of killing Nine off for his snide comments and his trained hatred but Eight had to be the hero. Eight was not going to let the misled boy get away with his misguided anger and hurt one of their own. So, he jumped in front of Five using his teleportation and braced for impact. Nine was a warrior, he would lead the other Garde into the fray.

But, he had eyes on him that day. Soft eyes, caring eyes.

Marina had used her telekinesis in the last instance to throw him off balance and barely miss his heart with that pocket blade. Marina pressed her hands to his bleeding stab mark to heal him from life threatening to stable. She turned and fought Five herself with no help after that, taking out the other boy's eye and impaling his foot clean through with sharp chunks of ice she manifested despite the boggy, humid atmosphere of the Florida Everglades. Eight held his wounds and watched, helpless but awestruck as Marina, his beautiful and kind Marina, took on a trained Mogadorian influenced warrior and won effortlessly.

She had saved him again.

It was that moment he knew his heart aligned with the best choice he would ever make. He'd fallen for the perfect girl and he was ready to fight at her side.

They took on the war alongside the other Garde. They led the Human Garde to master their abilities as best they could in a week with Six and Nine. They did everything in their power to help the fight, even if it meant putting aside their shared anger with what Five tried to do and for that, Five defended them from the monstrous augmentations in return.

Eight and Marina also tried to steer John's wrath as best they could, but without knowing Sarah as best as they could or should have, they had been at a standstill. Eight could avoid his death prophecy, but it hurt knowing that Sarah Hart was not to be so lucky. It hurt knowing he couldn't provide for John in the same way that he had for all of them, the way he threw himself through hell for all of them.

Eight knew who could help. Someone who'd offer anything up as long as it meant John didn't have to grieve and hurt for much longer. He remembers Nine's soft smirk and the way the light hit his eyes when he talked about John one passing night well after Ra's death. How Nine said he wanted to go find him alone.

Thus a challenge was born. It's been a year since the Garde and company did something for themselves. Eight knew it hadn't been too long since Marina and himself did something for them, in this way the pair and everyone else could finally move past the quiet riff in the group. Really, Ella was the one who put all of the thought into making it a game; she was the only one to call out the tension between them all. Specifically the other two. Nine and John are as highly competitive as Eight and Marina were. Relationships were all about finding, about connecting and developing something worthwhile over shared experience and careful growth.

Even now she does not realize it, on the battlefield and off of it, Marina continues to save him, to find him and walk alongside him.

Eight knew he found that last object on their list with ease, he knew his answer before they even set out into the city. But more time away from the crowd and with the most beautiful person in his world would never hurt. If he even so much as asked, he knew that they'd take their time returning to the penthouse with their findings.

"We still need to find something that represents us," Eight starts with a smirk, committing to the idea. "Think they can wait a few hours before we find an answer?"

He asked the question though he already knew the answer. Marina matches his grin and takes his hand to hold. Her eyes shown that she had her answer as well, but she has been thinking something similar.

"They run on our time, after all," she adds, squeezing Eight's hand once before leading them on their way back into the city.

"The skyline thing gets kind of old when you remember you can just fly above it all."

But still, John Smith kept a soft, timid hand planted against the glass wall of one of the many floating boxes dangling from the side of the Sear's Tower. He braved looking down past his feet down to the ant sized pieces of life on the streets below.

His blue eyes are curious, with one of his eyebrows crinkled upward in thought as he continued to look from his feet back to the cityscape in front of him.

"But," he murmurs. "I guess I also really… haven't actually looked at a city like this before."

Nine smirks to himself just watching the blonde boy from outside the glass box. John wanted to go in and be alone with the sights and, thanks to his status, everyone just sort of moved aside and let him. Many people knew John's name and face by now; it wasn't everyday someone met annoy who was the terror suspect turned hero they all needed that helped vanquish evil from every corner of the planet.

Not to mention the gossip magazines called him the most eligible bachelor of the century. Hell, the world. He remembers laughing until he couldn't breathe at the headline "Kirk Who? The New Intergalactic Sensation That'll Have You Begging To Be Beamed Up" on a newsstand with a picture of John in New York with Sam and Dani and snatched one of the zines to make fun of the blonde Garde with later on.

They knew of his powers so, luckily, his earlier comment wouldn't matter whose ears it fell on. It was a miracle that some of the tourists weren't stopping John or Nine himself for quick selfies in the box over the Chicago world.

He was popular too, dammit. Who needed two arms when you had dashing good looks, a killer smirk, and the loyalty of the best soldiers in your veins. Not to mention being part of a viral video that continues to garner views to this day.

"Are you done yet? We do have a challenge to win," Nine calls out to John in a bored tone. The blonde peered back to him and shrugged, walking towards where Nine stood.

"We got our attraction down, we found a cafe, and we got our hot dog, where to next," John asks, looking over Nine's arm at the crumpled paper in his hand. Their list was a very simple collection of things to find in the city of Chicago: a landmark, a hot dog vendor, a cafe, one of Chicago's biggest attractions, and finally, a very sappy one.

Nine was dreading the sappy part. He kept it covered with his thumb and cursed Ella every time he read over her neat little handwriting.

'Find us.'

"I was thinking Navy Pier since I know Eight and Marina would be all over Cloud Gate. It's the tourist-y thing to do in Chicago and it's not my style. They can go be a couple in broad daylight and we can have real fun."

"You lost me after two words, Cloud what?"

"Don't worry about it, let's just get moving," Nine waves him off and headed for the elevator. He knew this city like the back of his hand; this was the city that captured his heart far before any human or Loric did. He knew where the streets bent had history. He knew how the people swelled with pride in the summer night and how the people shrank with disgust in the winter. Sandor showed him everything he needed to, everything that would help Nine navigate his way from place to person and teach him his world.

The one thing that Sandor couldn't teach him, however, was how the people themselves could be dangerous if let in too close. His Cepan had briefly covered a lover he lost before the ship came to Earth and how she helped him become who he wanted to be. He mentioned her death but never how much her death had actually ruined him. People could sting. He had to learn from experience that losing Maddy felt like he was ready to stay down, that losing Sandor made him want to surrender any hope he had left while he rotted away in the Mog cavern.

Even now, two years later, he still had an occasional nightmare of Sandor's bleeding chest wounds he left to save their peoples' secrets. His hands were still red, even after he continued to wake up.

He feared how much it would hurt to let someone like John Smith come that far, knowing that John could cut him loose so easily if he also grew too close. They were both hardened and scarred but still standing; they were going to move on from their emotional wounds together. They understood each other's pain in ways no other Garde could.

"Why don't we just go to that bean thing?"

"That's… that's what Cloud Gate is."

"That's a stupid name."

"Remind me who thought John Smith was a good idea."

A soft slap echoes after that. The sound of John lightly punching Nine's arm, followed by their shared laugh.

The elevator trip down back to the street level is long but not completely painful. Another tour group huddled in, crowding the space and keeping the air conditioning at a distance with masses of body heat. Nine dwelled on the feeling of warmth as John's shoulder brushed against his once or twice for room.

He liked the thought of John's skin rubbing against his too much. Hands, arms, other intimate places.

In his typical fashion, John gave Nine a pointed look as though he blamed him for the small space. Then, he gently shoved Nine back for getting too close to him with a gentle smirk. A challenge. The older Garde grinned in response. That's what he liked most of all. He met a Garde on this planet, of the ten that were sent from Lorien, that never admitted he was weaker and always confronted him with a test. John didn't second guess himself in front of Nine even if he was wrong. He would hold his chin high and met Nine's eyes with a flash of ambition in his own blue like his life depended on it. He didn't want to be intimidated. He wanted to be on the same level, maybe on a greater one

Nine could have swore John's hand had lingered against his chest. His also knew that his need for this closeness often clouded his thoughts.

He always felt the gripping in his chest just thinking about it, that constant fear. He feared that because of how they are, that meant the possibility of a romantic commitment in between them could never happen. Too much challenge, too much of a rift between each other. Nine loathed letting John get away with anything as much as he knew how the blonde boy hated seeing Nine stand so proud and victorious; would it really work?

He can still feel the tender touch of John's hand on his own when the other boy had use his power to put Nine's broken hand back together. He can feel John's laugh shake his core from when they first reunited after the one group left with Five to Florida and the Mogadorians attacked on the Hancock center. He can still hear the soft, broken mumble of the fourth Garde's voice when he pieced Nine back together from the brink of death; the pain on every syllable the blond boy muttered for his ears alone.

He remembers their final conversation before the Garde packed up and faced Setrakus Ra for the final time. He remembers the desperation in his tone as he achingly convinced John to stay; the fear that his sores wouldn't have ever been enough to stop him from himself. John thought the only way to end it was to die himself, the way Pittacus Lore eventually had on Earth. He thought he was the next Pittacus Lore, the next savior to put himself down for the rest of his people.

He wanted to die because he thought he could give away so much with his death. Nine was never so glad for John to be wrong in his life.

He'd grown long past the sting of his pride being the root of his anger. There was no singular Elder that would rule over the remaining Garde, they were to all be equals now. When Six retrieved John from the rubble, barely breathing and gravely injured, she spoke of executing Ra herself.

After Ra, after nearly two months in a hospital, John had fled for an entire year to focus on himself. To better himself. With his legacy, he became an animal out for blood and he had to learn to tame it, alone.

And Nine was the first person he came back to see after that, the first he embraced and rekindled with after tortured months of loneliness. The other Garde don't know exactly how much time the two of them spent together after that, after reuniting with each and every one of the others. But they hadn't talked. Physically and in small doses yes, but having that talk after the war, no.

There was a chance. Nine could let himself hope for something sweet to happen to him, as well as to his best friend, one more time.

Nine felt it. But… now the question remained. What did John feel? Nine couldn't let himself read into it. He had enough details mapped out in his memories. But he was never good at dissecting people and as of now, there were just too many other concerns for him to worry about than learn how to connect with too many new or old people.

Out on the street at least, the two decided to walk most of the way until they found the more familiar parts of the city that Nine could effortlessly guide them through. The routes he took with Mandy, the routes he took when he snuck out from the penthouse, were all being reclaimed by something simple and perfect now. Nine hoped that the fresh air and quiet time navigating the concrete jungle meant they could leave that constant power struggle behind and turn it into something else.

John kept his eyes between the sky above them littered with buildings and in front of him to avoid any collisions. Nine tried to keep his eyes on the route but let himself catch glimpses of the other boy as they walked. The sun highlighted all of his strongest features like it knew that Nine already saw John's light. His cheekbones and nose were carefully sculpted. His messy hair glowed under the rays as it tucked and curled around his ears and forehead, like it was tossed around with every thought. He was always so careful with his surroundings yet so eager to see the dangerous parts of the world to the end. John didn't take his world for granted and Nine admired his effort. He wanted his world to be worth every risk he'd taken for almost seventeen years.

Their hands brushed once or twice during the walk; Nine chose to keep his thoughts to himself and let his nervous exhaled air speak. Out of the comer of his eye, he would catch John trying to pry into his line of sight seconds after his knuckle had brushed the back of Nine's fist.

Cautious. Maybe waiting.

Definitely tense.

"We've gone this far, it shouldn't be much longer if we keep walking," Nine finally spoke after what felt like ages.

"Agreed," was all John said. His eyes were focused ahead, his expression unreadable.

"Well," Nine started, stopping his pace. John turned to face him with a small, thoughtful frown. "There is one place in the city that could count for our scavenger hunt. Sears can count as a landmark and a big attraction, Navy Pier is for romantic chumps and the Cubs aren't playing in town this weekend. Who willing rides a Ferris Wheel for a half hour? Married people."

"Plus rides… have sort of lost their attraction," John adds, crossing his arms. "When you can fly, there's not a lot of manmade thrills left to take."

"Well, there's some physical thrills," Nine smiled, almost genuinely soft when he saw John's eyes narrow in suspicion. He didn't show a lot of softness often after all, just in pinches around John or Ella. "And there are the thrills you feel instead of experience. The mental and emotional ones instead of the flight over or some other weak enjoyment."

John held his stare for a moment. His narrowed glare turned into a thoughtful one, opening his mouth to comment but choosing to look down at his feet instead.

"Suppose you're right," he mumbled after a second, shrugging a little. "Still can't believe you thought to take me to an amusement park."

"It's not an amusement park, it's a romantic getaway."

"An afternoon with you, how romantic."

Nine knew he was plenty brave. The things he'd done, for both his own safety, Lorien's safety, and his new family, were endless piles of courageous acts and gut will. But he still needed to calm the painful dance his stomach made whenever he saw John sink down on himself over anything, quell the urge to reach out and touch him so he knew he wasn't alone anymore.

"Anyway. We could always just sneak back to the penthouse. The John Hancock center counts as an important place in Chicago," Nine nudges John next to him, hoping to break the suddenly flustering conversation. "You turn us invisible and I walk us up there, we just drop in suddenly and surprise the others after we take a picture or some shit."

"You know," John eyes him with a grin. "That's the first time I've ever heard you make a smart plan."

"Shut up and give me your hand."

Warm and miraculously soft like they always were, Nine thought to himself as soon as he thought about the first time he'd transferred his antigravity to him. It was moments like these that he savored most of all.

It took little time to make it to the roof of the John Hancock center. Nine never got to hold hands. John opted to fly the pair of them up instead of split the responsibility and ask for help, something he tended to do more often than not. Nine hated that habit of his, but didn't expect the mumbled apology that came right after they landed. He said he didn't want to waste their time; if only John knew that any moment away from the crowds that Nine could spend with him privately was never considered a waste.

"You remember the last time we went up here," Nine asks with that signature, devilish smirk of his after a while of overlooking the city. The one he knew would always win.

John gives him that familiar, signature scowl in response, the one he saves for Nine and Nine alone. It's almost like he was bored of the memory, bored of hearing about it over and over whenever Nine felt the need to get under his skin. Nine didn't blame him but their rooftop episode was the one thing he could bring up that would make John look at him a way he looked at no one else. After a bit, his friend's expression lightened up after a bit and he leaned over the railing of the side to look out into the city.

"I think me carrying the big, bad Nine bridal style up the side of his home beats that stupid fight now in terms of embarrassing memories of Four and Nine," he replies cheekily.

"Get bent," Nine laughes at him, lightly shoving John with an elbow.

"See how it feels?" John nudges him with his elbow, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before smiling softly out over the cityscape.

"It was about time we reclaimed this spot with something else."

He pauses, his ears reddening softly like he had realized too late how he let something slip. He turns his head away from Nine entirely, shifting his arm a little from its spot on the railing. John's hand slowly brushes across his again, like earlier on their walk, and it was now that Nine realized earlier it hadn't been accidental. He lookes over fully, examining the blonde's cheeks as they tinted in a soft red color. He lets himself stare, waiting for John to return the look that he knew was there.

The list had a reason. The tension was all there. He was blind to realize that they wouldn't have been put up to such a simple challenge with the end goal to find themselves if John hadn't reciprocated anything.

"I, uh, glanced at the list before we left," John admits quietly after a moment. He keeps his eyes trained away from Nine. "I hadn't realized you…" He continues and trails off, his cheeks reddening further. He scratches the back of his head.

Nine watches him try and put his words together, smiling softly to himself with every mumble.

"Things are… have been pretty different now and after spending almost a year alone, uh," John tries to start again, turning his head to address Nine but stopping when he sees his expression. "What?"

Nine shrugs in response before leaning in to close the gap between them with a soft kiss.

"You talk too much," he murmured when he pulled back.

"So I've been told," John laughed softly back, placing his hands against Nine's arms. This time, John leans up and kisses him, tender and warm. Nine lets his hands trail to hold his waist, holding him into the embrace.

Find us.

Us had been there all along. The pair had realized it late but they were ready to find more of themselves in each other.

John breaks the kiss after a moment and rests his head against Nine's chest. He wraps his arms tight around Nine.

"So. Do we have to go back in", he asks with a cheeky tone.

"Nope. They run on our time," Nine runs a hand through John's hair and glances over the city. "We can take our time."

"Good. We spent long enough avoiding it, I want to cherish it," he mumbles.

Nine turns and presses a kiss to John's forehead.

"So do I."


	21. Touch

**AN: A short fic I managed to write in a day. It's inspired by a Tumblr sentence prompt of "It's not bad to cry. In fact, I think it makes a person stronger." After UAO. Canon Divergence. Features a softer side to Stohn, like a comfort fic. Enjoy.  
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* * *

The glittery cave couldn't hide the sad sound of the hiccuping. Nine opens an eye and listens to the whimpering before he gently sat up in the sheets of the tattered cot and looked over his shoulder.

Their relationship was new, maybe only a month or so old.

A month since John touched down at the construction site of the Human Garde Academy and opened up about every single thing he was feeling. Lonely was the only word Nine remembered. John had asked him to help build the future and to heal alongside of him, seeing right through Nine's own ghosts the same way Nine watched the way those blue eyes lit up and dimmed over and over.

They were a match, a pair that was meant to cross and balance one another; fitting that the two that relied the most on the presence of the other, or even just another trusted person, isolated themselves to heal. Nine knew the changes he personally went through during the last days, but he could only speculate exactly how much of John was new. He was the only one who never pushed him to talk about it, never tried to step ahead of him and prevent him from working through his emotions in the way he felt he needed to; he drew the line when John's behaviors became self destructive to a point he no longer saw a future for himself.

Their reunion became a journey. Their journey brought them back to this desolate cave. This cave brought out every repressed feeling Nine felt towards John and every drop of him was met with the same splintering reaction from the other boy.

How Nine would continue to play games with himself of what pathetic, brave act he wanted to perform for everyone that he needed to impress or how Nine would rather hurt himself than admit he needed others.

How John shut out every other person that mattered to him up until those moment with Nine because he couldn't lose anyone else. How John almost gave up his life and everything in it in the name of his first, short lived relationship.

They pushed each other to talk, but it wasn't easy. Nine could barely put his emotions in words to himself and John stopped talking almost a year ago.

Touch became their communicator, but never in a harmful way. A careful hand on a shoulder or against an arm, a ruffle through hair and the lingering brush of thumb against a cheek.

From casual, brief touches to long, established contact, whether they overcome shyness to hold hands or embrace each other during the nights that the darkness of the cave becomes too much.

From hand and skin contact to the one night Nine couldn't hold back anymore and had to lean in to capture John's bliss against his lips.

Their bond became romantic shortly after they arrived here and argued endlessly about everything they should have said before, unpredicted but passionate moment underneath the stars a few miles above where they currently laid side by side, guided to whatever they wanted to label this by every piece that put it into place. When Nine couldn't bare to put off his feelings any longer, when that spark for John that died after his vanished came back full force when John first gently rested his palm against Nine's cheek and held his eyes during one of their softer fights.

Their relationship was new, young, but Nine still has since memorized the intensity of the nightmares by the sound of John's tears when he slept. He never cried when he was awake, just wore the dark, sunken bags under his eyes along his newly pale skin like they didn't exist.

John's back was to him, tensing instantly at the sound of Nine sitting up. Like he was terrified of being caught so vulnerable; the thought alone forced Nine to frown further. He struggls to remain still, shaking ever so slight with softer sobs as the blonde tried to turn into the soft pillows to cover his face.

"It's not bad to cry, you know," Nine starts quietly, moving a hand to rub along John's back. "Even the best people have to let themselves break into pieces, John."

The other Garde didn't respond, but his body seemed to melt under Nine's touch and after Nine's words.

"I think it makes a person stronger," he adds with a sad smile, hoping John would turn to see him. "I mean, that's what I keep telling myself when I feel like I finally have to cry."

John freezes beneath the tenderness of Nine's petting, then wilts against the sheets beneath him.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you when you needed it," he said suddenly, his voice just above a whisper, trying to mask the way his words broke with the sound of his crying just seconds before.

"You can't do everything, John. You had other places to be, other things to worry about. I'm sorry I'm sort of bad at talking and being open," Nine retorts in a tone just as quiet, leaning down and pressing a kiss to John's hair. "I'm getting there, I'm far from perfect in this art, but you helped me get to where I want to learn how if it means I can be here like this with you. Maybe... that's what you can do. Maybe you should try to talk to me and tell me what these dreams are about, or what happens in them."

"You won't like it," John replies, closing his eyes and trying to turn from Nine. To close himself off once more from Nine, terrified of what ever things he saw in his dreams coming true. Terrified of letting himself go and letting someone else help him.

Nine moves his hand to John's side and turned the other boy to face him, laying down besides John and softly tracing his hand down John's arm and side. He moves his fingers up and nestles them in the hair at the base of his neck, running a thumb against John's neck to his chin. The blonde responds by leaning his forehead in against Nine's, unable to escape the comfort and safety Nine's touch brought out in him.

"I want to hear about it all," Nine urges, leaning and kissing his partner softly. "You can let me in too, John. I'm not the only one who needs help being free and that's ok."

John goes quiet, responding by opening his eyes and meeting Nine's with a sad glint, but his hand slowly moves up and plants itself on Nine's side, tightening against the skin to pull Nine closer to him. He takes a shaky breath.

"Promise?" He asks in a cracked voice. "No matter whatever the dreams are, or what is going on with me, you'll stay here."

"It'll take more than a couple of scares to drive me away from you, Number Four," Nine leans in and kisses John again but doesn't move to pull away immediately. They kiss quietly, pulling each other into a space only they could exist in. When Nine broke it again, he was barely a breath from John's lips when he spoke again.

"Nothing can push me away."

John let out another deep, shaky breath, but he doesn't try to move from Nine's contact.

"I won't lose you," he murmurs.

Nine smiles a little and kisses John's forehead, nose, cheeks.

"If you're scared you can't help me, I'm flattered but I'm ok and I will be ok. Right now, John, you need to be ok."

John nods once, barely, then lays an arm down against Nine's arm in a lazy cuddle, settling back a little so he could meet Nine's eyes. He holds Nine's eyes, the blue depth changing from sad to quiet determination.

Then, he started talking.


End file.
